Back to You
by Starbuck0322
Summary: My Collection of Lie to me* one shots... hopefully leaving you wanting more.
1. Tag! You're It!

_Tag! You're It!_

_

* * *

_

"Again, Cal! Really?"

Gillian Foster threw the blue file onto the desk where Cal Lightman sat. His feet were crossed at the ankles and rested on his desk. His hands were folded neatly in his lap.

"You sneaky devil," Cal diverted her death stare. "You've been into my safe again."

Gillian's hands flew from her side. "You could have at least used a different file folder."

"You could have at least stayed out of my safe."

"You never changed the combination code."

Cal cocked his head and pursed his lips. "Good point, Doctor."

Gillian stared at him for a time. Finally her brow furrowed. "Don't divert this Cal Lightman. I am seriously pissed off with you."

Cal nodded and uncrossed his legs, resting them back on the floor. He slapped his knees and stood. "And I can see that darling but I'm not sorry."

"Sorry?" Gillian crossed her arms in front of her, inhaling deeply. "This is going beyond just a little apology, Cal. How long have you been looking into him?"

Cal began to move around his desk. "How long have you been seeing him?"

Gillian raised an eyebrow. "3 months."

Cal nodded; his lips puckered. "Right. 'Bout 3 months, then."

"3 months." Gillian repeated.

Her hands flew to her hair. Frustrated, she grasped her neck, massaging her tight muscles. Cal did not move toward her. He stood still; a satisfied nod shaking his features.

"Well," Cal began, breaking the silence. "He's no good for you, Foster. Too squeaky."

"Squeaky. Is that so?"

"So." Cal inhaled. "And he smells bad."

"He smells bad."

"He's got this real knack for being a mooch. He's a sucker."

"A mooch and a sucker."

Cal motioned toward her with palms open. He took a step forward. "You know, for a psychologist, you're doing a real crappy job with this whole conversing thing."

Gillian took a step forward meeting him face-to-face. "You think that maybe it's because I'm trying to do everything in my power right now, not to tear off your head."

"Ooooo!" Cal leaned back balancing on his heels. His face lit with excitement. "You see? Right there? That's the fire, the spunk that you're not going to find with this new guy."

"I won't, will I?"

"Nah." Cal smiled. "He's never going to know the real Foster. I mean the man can't even get your breakfast order right?"

Gillian's face turned hot; tension rising. "You followed us for breakfast?"

"He doesn't know your flowers. Can't get your pizza right." And off Gillian's scowl. "The man can't even open the car door for you." Gillian blushed, looking away from him. "And we all know how much you like that stuff, eh Gill?"

"Back off, Cal." Her eyes brimmed with tears.

"What?"

She took a step toward him. "Back off."

"You know what you need, darling?"

Gillian stayed motionless.

"You need some snoggin' and shaggin'." Cal looked her over and shook his shoulders, his arms flapping loose. "You're all tense."

Gillian clenched her teeth. Her eyes were dark; threatening.

Cal's face began to flush, he inhaled quickly. "I mean. What's he gonna do when you finally reveal all your little fetishes, Foster? He's gonna run for the hills. Especially when you pull out the gag and rope."

The motion was quick; all a blur to Cal. A hook from the right making perfect contact with her intended. Cal fell backward after receiving the blow, only regaining his balance at the last minute. Gillian shook her hand.

"Damn," she said shaking her hand. She looked down at her knuckles as her hand trembled.

Cal looked at her cautiously and smiled. "I was expecting the slap."

Her eyes widened. "Surprise."

Cal exhaled quickly and took a step back toward her. He rolled his jaw, attempting to regain the feeling there.

"So, no gag then?" He stood in front of her now; close enough to feel her breath on his skin. "High leather boots? A whip?"

He was quicker this time, and greeted her open hand, holding her wrist. She tried with her other hand. Again, he caught her wrist. She inhaled quickly, closing her eyes for only a moment, which was long enough for him to press his weight against her, pushing her against the nearby wall.

"Did I strike a nerve, love?"

"What would make you say that?"

"You're shaking. Body temperature is high. Cheeks are flushed; lips pouty."

She smiled nervously through clenched jaw. "Let me go, Cal."

"Are you going to hit me?"

"Are you going to continue to invade my privacy?"

"Quite possibly."

"Well then, there's the strong likelihood that I could hit you."

He searched her face, looked into her eyes, "Could, eh?"

She nodded.

"Well then," he said. "I do believe I'll take my chances."

He leaned into her pressing his body against her. His lips were on her instantly finding her lips. She tasted sweet and inviting. She tasted like candy and he wondered what she had just consumed to make her taste this good. Which one of her favourite sweets she had recently indulged in.

She attempted to pull away from him, finding nothing but wall behind her, his lips in front of her; her hands still bound by his grip. She twisted her hands in his grasp but her attempts to free herself were useless. He only held her more tightly.

Cal pulled from her, his face flush, eyes wide with excitement. He said nothing and looked into her, saw the fury which ran thick across her brow. The embarrassment that plagued her features.

"Are you finished?" she asked him, caged fury seeping into her words. She rolled her wrists in his grasp.

Cal exhaled quickly, his face going slack. His sights traveled the length of her. "Well..." he began, his mind wandering, hungry hands which lingered on the soft flesh of her lower back. He inhaled. "Yeah. I'm done."

"Can you let me go now?"

He cocked his head. "Are you going to hit me?"

"Yes," she nodded; spoke in monotone. "Most definitely."

Cal looked up weighing his options. "All right." Slowly he removed his hands from her wrists and took a quick step backward.

He expected her fists to fly at him, expected the rage to flow from her, but Gillian Foster only stood tall and adjusted her shirt.

She did not meet his gaze, and instead reached forward to pick the blue folder from his desk.

"You really are a jerk, Cal Lightman." She took a step toward him. Mockingly, he took a further step back.

"Dr. Lightman," he corrected. "And I'm fully aware. Been told that one before."

She sighed and tapped the folder with her index finger. "You're just a kid on the playground with a crush and you have no idea what you're doing."

"You're still here, aren't you?"

She ignored his statement.

"You hide behind your work, _'the name on the door',_ as you so graciously refer to it. You hold it over everyone's head because you're too afraid to let anyone in. You're too afraid to admit you need help; that maybe some of us can do this better than you. And you're so distracted by this game you're playing, that you don't even see the big picture."

"And what's that?"

She stood taller now, completely in doctor mode. "That everyone here respects you; wants to learn from you. That everyone wants to be here."

He took a small step toward her. "And you want to be here?"

Gillian shifted her weight. "We all want to be here, Cal. If not, some of us would have left years ago."

"Just a kid on the playground, eh." He looked up at her slowly. "With my playground crush."

"Exactly. It's sad really. it's so painstakingly apparent that you get a kick out of this game, that you forget the obvious truth."

"Which is?"

"That all you ever had to do was ask."

"Ask?"

"Plain and simple."

Cal racked his brain; mulled over her words. He licked his lips; he could still taste her and this brought another smile to his lips.

"Is this about the folder?"

Gillian sighed, took a step around him and walked toward his office door. "You really can't stop, can you?"

"'Fraid not, love. Not with you."

She turned to him pointing a finger. "And that's why this will never work."

"No," he said shifting his weight. "This will never work because you seem to be spending your time with low grade, losers, who don't have the passion to stand next to you. They're not worthy."

Gillian put one hand on the handle to his office to exit. "Marcus was not a low grade, loser. And I'll spend my time with whomever I choose, at whatever time of my choosing. It's my life, Cal."

Cal stood twitching, nodding his head. Suddenly he froze; his heart beat hammered into his head. "Marcus was?"

"We split up three weeks ago." Gillian threw the file to the floor at his feet, its contents spilling out. "Funny. I couldn't find that information in the file." She opened the door quickly. "I suggest you revise your tactics, Dr. Lightman, or this might be the last thing you see."

And with that, Gillian turned, leaving him standing stock still; his jaw clenched, hands sweaty at his side. He studied her as she turned the corner, hips swinging.

Slowly, lines tightened on his face; a sly grin began to form.

"Game's on, Doctor."


	2. After Honey

_After Honey_

_

* * *

Both wanting to ask the obvious; neither able to say the words._

_Until..._

"Can I sleep in your spare bedroom tonight; if it's not too much of a problem?"

_To have him here; safe within the confines of her own walls. Perhaps she would actually sleep tonight._

"Of course."

_And he crosses her threshold as if crossing a boundary and in order to move forward she must reach out to him. _

"Hey."

_To touch his chest; to ensure he is real. Could she now relax her shoulders and let the day's events melt away into distant memory? Was this simply enough; that he was safe within the confines of her arms?_

_Was it enough that he could wrap his arms around her and breathe her in?_

_That they could be..._

_

* * *

_

Cal felt the bedding around him move; felt the weight on the mattress alter beside him. He turned in the darkness toward the silhouette which had taken up shape beside him.

"Oh," Gillian said, frozen in her actions as if afraid he could see her blush in the faint light which streamed from the single window in the room. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Cal rubbed his eyes. "Nah. 'ts all right." He sighed and took a deep breath. "You all right, Foster?"

She moved closer, slowly drawing her legs into the sheets. "Um, yeah. I'm fine."

"Foster?"

"I..." She trailed on and released a heavy breath. "It's nothing."

He propped himself up and attempted to search her features in the darkness. The lines of her body began to take shape before him; the creases of her silk pyjamas. "What's nothing?"

She was still for a moment. Slowly she shook her head and sighed. She withdrew her legs from the warmth, lifting the bed sheets away from her body. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Hey." He caught her arm before she could stand. "What is it?"

"I told you; it's nothing."

"Gill..."

"I can't sleep." Again, she sighed heavily and in a low voice uttered, "A part of me was thinking..."

Cal smiled in the darkness and let his hand trail down her arm to take her by the hand.

"C'mere love."

"Are you sure?"

"Course, I'm sure. Get over here."

Heartbeat resonated loud in her chest as Gillian drew her legs back under the sheets and inched toward him. He let go of her hand and held his arm open around her, inviting her to rest her head against his bare chest. She paused looking up at him, holding her breath.

"Relax, Gill." He said smiling, his voice low. "I'm not going to bite."

She laughed, releasing another heavy breath. She flipped her hair and rested her head on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body mixing with the heat which rose to her cheeks. Hesitantly, she draped an arm across his chest and hoped he could not feel the slight tremor that shook her body fluidly. Finally, she relaxed and he sought the opportunity to take her arm in his hand; his other arm draped across her body to hold her tightly.

"Better?" he asked after a time and felt her smile against him.

"Yes," she said, finally letting her fingers move against his skin. She wondered if he could feel the nervousness which raged through her; the sweat which clung to her palms.

"I told you I don't bite."

She laughed, her breath making contact with his skin, sending waves throughout his body. When she moved, her scent rose to meet him, filling him instantly with calm. He allowed his eyes to close, feeling her breath beside him; the soft rise and fall of her ribcage against his side.

They were quiet in the darkness. Listening to the steady breaths they took; Gillian with her ear pressed tightly to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

Finally, he allowed his hands to move against the silk of her pajamas; letting his fingertips trail her back, her shoulders.

And she too closed her eyes, let herself relax; melting against him, ensuring no distance between their bodies. A low whimper uttered from the back of her throat causing her eyes to open suddenly, her body to stiffen against him.

He laughed suddenly and moved his hand from her back to her hair. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"It's all right, love." He said reassuringly.

She let her shoulders relax again. "I know." She wrapped her arm tighter, shifting her weight against him. "I guess I need sleep."

He began to run his fingers through her hair, instantly calming her. "Then sleep. You're tense."

She smiled and looked up at him. "I guess I was afraid you'd say, no."

His hand moved to her back again. He released a slow breath.

"No? To this?" His brow furrowed; hurt she would think so. "I would never turn you away, Gill." He placed a kiss to her forehead. "Never in a million years."


	3. Denial

_Denial_

_

* * *

_The lights were dimmed low in the halls of The Lightman Group as Cal Lightman made his way to the exit, less than enticed to return home to his empty house, to his single prepared meal. Nights without Emily were lonely to say the least; the quiet of the house echoed without her laughter to fill it.

As he passed Gillian Foster's office, he was surprised to see her silhouette against the bright lights of the city below.

He knocked softly on the glass door and pushed it, entering slowly so as not to disturb her. The only light in the room emanated from her desktop computer; the screen-saver, a graphic of The Lightman Group.

"Hey," he greeted, edging nearer to her desk where she sat cross legged staring at the world below.

"Hey," she returned turning slowly to face him.

She was a vision this evening; her hair slightly curled and flirty. She wore a black dress he had not seen before; tailored perfectly to fit her body, hugging her curves. It was topped with a sleek jacket which shaped her shoulders and complimented her dropping neckline.

Cal tilted his head toward her, his brow furrowing. "Don't you have a date? The writer?"

"Sculptor."

"Right."

Gillian looked down to her lap to toy with her fingers. "Looks like I'm flying solo this evening."

Cal took another step toward her desk and planted himself on its corner. "You got stood up?"

She licked her lips, pressing them tightly together. "He called. Said there was an emergency."

"A sculpting emergency?"

She looked up to him quickly; brow furrowed, eyes slit.

Cal put his hands in front of him in his defense. "Right. Sorry."

Cal was quiet; he listened as she released a sigh. He looked down at his wardrobe; black suit jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt. Suddenly, he slapped his knees and jumped from her desk to land in front of her.

Shocked, she sat back quickly in her chair.

"Right, well," he declared reaching out to take her hand. "We certainly cannot have you sitting here in the dark, dressed like that."

She cocked her head toward him, hesitantly taking his hand. He brought her to her feet.

"What do you say love?" He entwined his fingers with her, wrapped a hand around her waist taking her in his arms. "I get spiffed up and you and me; dinner? Dancing?" He spun her around in a tight circle.

She smiled wide; teeth showing, cheek bones rising. Like an infection, he did the same.

She brought a hand to his chest; ran a flat palm up over to his shoulder. She stared at his lips. "You don't have to."

"But I want to." He stood back to look at her; eyes traveling the length of her. "Such things should be shown off."

She smiled. Her brow rose in curiosity. "All right then."

"Smashing."

He released her, waited for her as she walked around her desk to grab her purse. He made his way to stand with her by the door; hand resting on the door's handle.

"Listen," he said looking down, taking her fingers in his own again. "He's out there, Gill. Mr. Right, I mean." He looked up at her slowly, pausing. "One worthy of you."

The smile fell from her as her face relaxed. She searched his eyes. "I know," she confessed. "I just hope I don't have to wait much longer."

He smiled; lips tight. "Me neither, darling." He cracked the door open, offering his arm to her. "Me neither."


	4. Toxic

_Toxic_

* * *

It was well within the late hours of the evening when Cal Lightman's silence was interrupted by the ringing of his doorbell.

He sighed heavily and leaned forward placing his tumbler on the table in front of him, his feet now removed from his favourite foot rest.

"Bloody hell," he muttered taking slow, socked footsteps toward his front door.

He pulled the heavy door open, eyes widening.

"Torres," he said with much disdain, his brow furrowing. "What can I do for you?"

"Take over for me?"

"Over what?"

"Babysitting duties."

Ria Torres reached beside her, clutching a figure from the darkness. Dr. Gillian Foster stumbled out onto Cal's front stoop. She smiled suppressing giggles and at the sight of Cal leapt forward through the entryway.

"There you are!" She said with glee reaching out to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

He steadied her against him; feet wobbly, knees weak.

"Darling," he said to her smiling, leaning back to look at her. "You're smashed."

She giggled into his shoulder and slapped him playfully. She wobbled against him, stepping sideways. She struggled to regain her balance. Caught in the crook of his arm, she stood up straight and reached up with a single finger to tap his nose.

"Right you are, good sir." She smiled, white teeth shining bright through lips slightly parted. Her eyes closed and she brushed her cheek with his. "You smell good." She whispered into his ear.

Cal sighed. "You smell good too, darling. What is that Mr. Daniels?"

Ria crossed her arms. "And Mr. Cuervo."

"Yes!" Gillian exclaimed releasing her grip on Cal. "And we can't forget the Captain!"

"Captain Morgan," Cal said reaching out to place an arm around her. "Classy."

Ria uncrossed her arms and took a step down. "Well, goodnight."

"Oi!" Cal called after her after she had turned her back to him. "Now where do you think you're going?"

"Home, Dr. Lightman." Ria took another step down. "She's all yours now."

Gillian wrapped tightly to his side, Cal took a step forward bringing her with him. "Naw." He shook a finger in Ria's direction. "You're coming in here and helping me with this."

"I am, am I?"

He paused. "Yea."

"Or what?" Ria countered, placing a hand on her hip. "I'm fired/"

"Something like that."

Ria groaned, her arms falling limp by her side. She climbed his step and entered the house; removing her coat, hanging her purse on a nearby hook. She turned to Cal, his face showing torment as Gillian wrapped herself around him in a sloppy dance.

"Where do we start?" Ria offered. She took a step forward, placed a hand on Gillian's back.

Cal smiled. He turned Gillian and lifted her effortlessly into his arms; her hands still locked around his neck.

"Shoes," Cal instructed Ria, who immediately reached forward taking Gillian's pumps in hand, placing them on the floor.

"Is it shower time?" Ria asked; her tone more of disdain than of concern.

Cal began to lead the way down the hall to his stairs leading to upstairs. "Oh, I think the good Doctor is well passed 'shower time'. " Gillian cooed at his neck, sending shockwaves down his spine, causing him to stop mid step. "She'll need something far more powerful."

* * *

The lights low in the upstairs hallway, Cal led the way to his bedroom, kicking the door open, causing it swing back. It made a loud banging noise against the wall.

He brought Gillian forward, placing her on his bed into a sitting position. He struggled with her; drawing her arms from around his neck, placing her hands in her lap.

She giggled and smiled wide drunkenly, teeth showing. She opened her eyes to Cal; glossy and dark, causing him to look away.

Ria stood in the doorway; hands in front of her, fingers moving nervously.

Ignoring Gillian, Cal placed his hands within her collar and pulled her suit jacket from her shoulders slowly. Leaning forward, Gillian pressed herself into him and reached forward. Her busy hands made contact with his pant leg. She reached around to take his ass in her grasp. She sighed deeply, a moan escaping her throat, causing Cal to stiffen. He sighed.

"Oh, brother."

With her coat off, Cal pushed her lightly back into the sitting position. He walked around to his bureau, opening a drawer removing a t-shirt and sweats. He tossed them at Ria.

"Get her changed," he said moving toward her. "I'll be back in a jiffy." He paused in the doorway. "Oh and Torres?" She turned to him. "Try to keep her busy hands down."

* * *

Cal reached the top of the stairs, glass in hand. Its contents resembled the colour of pea soup with the thickness of melted cheese. It did not move in the glass as he walked down the hall to his bedroom door.

The door was now closed over and he knocked lightly announcing his presence. The door creaked on its hinges; the lights were dim in the room.

He looked up toward the bed, to the familiar form in front of him. She looked up at him, still dressed in her blouse and skirt from earlier. Cal sighed and stepped forward. He placed the glass on his bureau and turned back to Gillian.

Softly, she padded toward him; her bare feet lightly treading across the carpet. Her blouse unbuttoned, she looked up at him with glossy eyes. He was frozen, caught in her dangerous smile. She licked her lips.

"Gill..." he managed to squeak out.

She took another step toward him and raising her hands, she pulled the light fabric away from her shoulders, letting it tumble to the floor at her feet.

He attempted to keep eye contact with her, but his eyes fell reluctantly to her laced black bra. He swallowed loudly. Sweat traced across his brow.

"Foster..."

"Lightman," she returned, her lips pouty. She reached him, took his t-shirt in her fingertips. "It's time to play."

"Dear Lord," Cal muttered under his breath as Gillian's hands ran flat against his chest. She found his neck, clawed lightly at the base of his hairline with her fingernails.

Hesitantly, he reached forward. His fingertips made contact with her warm skin. She smiled as he touched her. Her lids fluttered seductively.

Electric shock flooded his body. Lightning bolts seemed to bounce off her skin as he explored new territory. Goosebumps rose on her flesh as he moved across her hips to her back.

She leaned into him and pressed her body tightly to him; her warm breath traced across his neck. Gillian looked down and then back up at him, fire in her eyes. Her lips parted in pleasant surprise.

"I see you're ready to play," she said.

"Through no fault of my own," he said honestly.

Gillian smiled back at him and removed her hands from his neck. Holding his gaze, she reached around taking her bra clasp in her fingertips.

"Heaven help me," Cal divulged, reaching up to take her hands in his own, drawing them away from their task.

In the distance Cal heard the flushing of the toilet, the running of water in the sink. He turned slowly from Gillian's dismay to Ria who stood stock still in the doorway of his en suite.

"Well don't just stand there," Cal sighed. "A little help, please?"

"Oh my God!" Ria gasped, removing the glass from under her nose. "What the heck is this?"

Cal smiled looking up at Ria who brought the glass forward to the bed. "Trust me. You don't want to know."

Ria moved to stand in front of the less than pleased Gillian Foster, now dressed in sweats. Ria held the glass lightly in her fingertips; away from her body as if afraid the liquid were corrosive.

Gillian sat upright on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Shoulders hunched, she waited patiently.

Cal moved to the bed to kneel behind her and brought his hands to her hair. He began to pull her hair away from her face into a high pony tail. Gillian cooed and leaned back on Cal at the sensation of his fingertips against her scalp.

"All right, Foster," Cal said as Ria handed her the glass. "Bottom's up."

Gillian took the glass reluctantly, placing it to her lips. Her nose wrinkled slightly but she took the liquid and in a few gulps finished the glass.

He face twisted into knots and she gave the glass back to Ria who placed it on the bed side table.

Cal reached behind him and produced a bucket. He handed it to Ria.

Ria looked from the bucket to Gillian, to Cal, and back to the bucket nervously.

Cal nodded. "You've been drinking?"

"Yes."

He nodded quickly and took his hands from Gillian's hair. "Switch."

Cal leapt from the bed as Gillian grabbed her stomach and moaned. Ria took Cal's place behind her and quickly took Gillian's hair in her hands.

Gillian leaned forward as Cal placed the bucket below her face; she wretched violently.

* * *

Gillian Foster stirred in the darkness, turning, making contact with a solid form beside her. Her hands shot up to touch the shape and immediately made contact with Cal's warm body.

Cal groaned and turned toward her. He shook the sleep from his eyes.

"Hey love."

She sighed, smiling slightly. "What time is it?"

He lifted himself to a sitting position, turning to look at his clock. "3:30." He leaned down, shifting his weight to his elbow; he hovered beside her. He reached around her and drew the duvet over her shoulders, tucking her in. "How are you feeling?"

"Empty."

He smiled. "You should be. I didn't think it was ever going to stop."

She laughed and reached down to hold her side. "Please," she cooed. "Don't remind me."

"I'm serious, Gill. For such a little woman..."

"Hey!" she flung her hand forward making contact with his chest.

"Wha-?"

They laughed quietly together.

Gillian fell silent; memories from earlier returning to her.

"Listen, Cal," she began turning toward him. "I'm sorry for this."

Cal shook his head and reached beneath her shoulders to draw her into his arms. He shuffled his body closer to her, feeling her warmth swallow him completely.

"Naw, there's nothing to be sorry for." He confessed. "I'm just glad you're here and not drunk in a ditch somewhere."

Again, she chuckled quietly. He felt her chest rise and fall.

"Torres left?"

"Hours ago."

"She was good to me." She sighed. "I think I owe her big for this."

Cal reached up to draw a strand of hair away from her face. He played casually with her ear lobe in his fingertips.

"Dear Lord." Cal drew still. "Don't tell me I'm going to need to give her a raise now?"


	5. Saving Grace

_Saving Grace_

* * *

"You all right, Foster?"

Cal's words broke Gillian Foster's quiet contemplation. Seated at her desk, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, she looked up at him and inhaled quickly.

"I scared you," he took a step forward. He grimaced. "Sorry." He slouched himself in the chair across from her, his hand rested on the arm of the chair. His head fell to the side.

"You all right, love?"

She looked up at him, eyes dark and troubled. "I thought we had this one, Cal."

He nodded slowly. "So did I."

"They're just kids, Cal."

"They're always the toughest."

Cal watched as Gillian bowed her head and played casually with her fingers. In their search for the truth, he often forgot the gentle nature of his partner. Her determination to prove the world were a happier place, at times, would seep into her judgment. And on this most recent case, two 15 year olds charged with the murder and dumping of their 2 day old infant daughter, Dr. Gillian Foster had let her innocent view of the world, of the human self, get the better of her.

"There's not much more we could have done for them," Cal said, disrupting the uncomfortable silence between them.

She looked up; a single tear had found its way down her cheek. She wiped it away and looked down again. "I know," she confided. "I just wanted there to be another explanation. I don't know if I've ever wanted anyone to be more truthful before."

Cal nodded. His lips pressed tightly together. "Sometimes the world doesn't make any sense." He found her eyes again. "You can't personalize this."

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not."

Cal leaned forward. "That little girl was not Sophie."

Gillian uncrossed her legs and stood. "I didn't say she was." She left the comfort of her desk and moved around to stand in front of him. "I think you're the one making this personal." Her eyes narrowed on him.

He rose to meet her.

"It's true, Gill," he added. "You're thinking you could have saved her." He watched her shoulders rise and fall, and took the opportunity to step into her, invading. He looked up at her, his head cocked. "You know I can't help but worry about you."

"I don't need you to," she whispered.

"Sorry love." He smiled slightly and reached up to take her shoulders in his hands. "You don't have much choice in the matter."

Her lips curled; tears brimmed and fell unrelenting. "I would have loved her."

"I know, darling." He sighed, taking her into his arms. "You would have been fantastic."

A hand found her hair and he stroked her gently. He felt her pull away from him, but he held her tighter; wound his arm around her.

He was still, waiting for her to relax against him. She released an uneven breath and at once broke into sobs.

He let her cry, let her push and pull against him. He whispered in her ear; told her what she wanted to hear, told her it was going to be ok.

She vaguely heard him speaking to her; concentrating more on the tone of his voice, the soft petting of her hair, his fingertips against her skin, than on the words he uttered.

She inhaled unevenly and attempted to regain her composure. She removed herself from the crook of his neck, looked down to where she had rested and brushed her palm flat over the shoulder of his blazer.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her face inches from his own, she refused to meet his eyes.

He smiled. "Skin off a dog's back, eh?" He brushed his fingers across her cheek. "There's always dry cleaning."


	6. Sway

_Sway_

_

* * *

_

_"I cannot wait until tomorrow."_

_"Why? What's tomorrow?"_

_"I get better looking every day."_

_

* * *

_

Her words sank heavy; ran thick and sticky like honey.

He wasn't sure what his face was reading. He focused on her features alone as he leaned into her. He placed himself in line with her body.

Her eyes fell to his lips; hips swayed slightly. She fought against her drunkenness and the heaviness of her limbs. Her weight shifted to the balls of her feet.

They were close enough to feel each others breath warm on their skin. The liquor took hold of her as she leaned in closer, inches from his lips.

"What does a girl have to do to get a kiss around here?"

He breathed her in, read the seduction which traced her features."You're doing just fine, love."

She smiled, lips parted. "And yet you're not moving."

"You're smashed, Gill."

She took a wobbly step backward. "Hey now," she waved a pump in the air. "I'm a respectable amount of happy." She pushed the point of her shoe into his chest. "But I'm certainly not smashed."

She took another step backward shifting her weight and stumbled.

He reached out and caught her by the waist.

"You were saying."

Her eyes rolled upward to meet him. She brought a hand to her hair, drew a strand of light brown hair from across her forehead. "Respectable."

Balanced in his arms, she reached up to touch his lips. "These," she said brushing his lips with her thumb. "On mine. Now."

He leaned into her, could smell the liquor on her; felt the tension growing from his toes.

"Yes ma'am."

She was warm, wet and inviting. She tasted sweet from his expensive gift. Its aroma sat lightly on her tongue which danced seductively around his mouth. With each new movement, each new area explored, she let out a small hungry moan from her throat, which caused his stomach to tighten, his hands to pull her more tightly toward him.

He fought for breath, fought to pull against her, but her passion was growing heavy, intense and she was now rocking against him.

"Gill," he managed through their kiss. Her tongue wrapped around his, leaving him vacant of any other thought but for the woman in front of him; her tongue which collided with his.

She moaned again, toyed with his hair. She removed his hard hat vigorously causing it to crash to the floor.

The noise startled them, and it was enough distraction for him to pull back from her, to steady her in front of him.

She turned back to him seductively, was shocked when he placed a finger to her lips to silence her. She smiled against his touch and lifted her head to take his finger in her mouth, suckling.

"Dear Lord," Cal said removing his finger from the warmth of her mouth. "That's dangerous; that's what that is."

She giggled and fell forward into his arms. She pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck and sighed loudly.

"Dance with me," she said as the music flipped to the next track.

Gillian wrapped her arms around his waist; tucked her thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans.

"Sway with me," she cooed as Sinatra's soulful croon filled the space around them once more.


	7. Fragments

__

_Fragments_

_

* * *

_

Cal Lightman's soft padded feet tread lightly across the bedroom of Gillian Foster. The shades drawn, curtains together tightly, he blinks in the darkness as he edges toward her bed.

"Gill," he calls out to her, patiently waiting.

Her breathing remains steady, calm, and he looks down to her, squints in the darkness. Not a single line on her face; she is peaceful, serene.

Seconds tick by slowly and he tries again, calls out to her gently.

Again; no movement.

Heavy heartbeat resounds in his chest as he takes up position beside her. He reaches forward, touches her face, finds her warm, skin soft.

He scans the room carefully, stops short on her bedside table and reaches out to pick up a brown prescription bottle. He squints, reads the label, and sighs.

"Gill," he says to her, drawing a single lock of hair from her face. "Wake up, love."

Still nothing; her features calm.

"Sweetheart," he leans down to her, places his lips outside her ear lobe. "Come on Gill, wake up."

Suddenly, he hears the familiar change in her breathing. She inhales deeply, her face tightening.

He continues to brush his hands over her face, trails her hairline with gentle fingertips.

She moans, lips tightening, and blinks, squinting up at him in the darkness.

"What?" she says annoyed with him, and twists her body uncomfortably.

"You all right, love," he asks pressing his palm flat against her cheek.

Gillian looks around the room and returns to him as if in a drunken haze. She stares at him, breathing heavily. "Cal? What are you doing here?"

He removes his hand from her face. He leans forward again, braces himself on the sides of her body. "You didn't come into work. I got worried."

"I called you."

Cal sighs, looks down to her lips. "Gill, that was yesterday."

Gillian blinks lazily. Her eyelids close and she sighs.

Cal watches as the lines of her face disappear, lips slightly parting. He watches as her breathing subsides.

Again, he reaches up to brush her face. "Gillian."

Gillian's eyes shoot open and she groans. "I'm tired Cal. What?"

He reaches forward, picks up the prescription bottle. "How many of these have you taken?"

Again she squints. "Two. I think."

He sighs heavily, places the bottle back on her bedside table. "Gill, this is serious stuff. I'm sure you know that."

"I do." She rubs her eyes, opens them wide; her pupils slowly returning to normal. "One wasn't enough. That's all."

She sits up, flattens the sheets around her and looks at him; concern invades every inch of his face.

She sighs, her eyes closing. "You hacked into my calendar again, didn't you?"

He motions out toward her with a single hand. "Well, in my defence, it's not like you're making it difficult for me."

"It's my calendar."

"You're my partner."

"It's my life."

He cocks his head toward her, inches up the bed toward her. He reaches forward, places his hands flat against her hips. "Talk to me Gill."

She grows tense in his hands; back straightening. "You already know what this is about."

"Please..."

She exhales and shakes her head lightly. "There's a folder on my bureau."

Cal removes his hands from her body, retrieves the folder, and returns to the bed. He opens the blue folder, its contents spilling out onto his lap. On top is a photo that draws his attention. It is of a young girl, not more than 3 years old, with curly brown hair, a smile wide on her face. Several other photos emerge from behind it. The young girl and a chocolate Labrador. The young girl on a swing. Each face reading joy and happiness.

Cal looks up to Gillian.

"These are Sophie?"

She nods slightly.

"Gill..." he trails on.

"I had to know Cal," she divulges leaning forward to grab one of the photos. "I had to see that she was okay."

Cal sighs again and closes the folder, replacing its contents. He places the folder beside them, and inches back up the bed to sit close to her.

"You need to let this go." He cocks his head again. "You need to let her go."

Scorn treads across her features. "Don't you think I know this? Can't you see I'm trying?"

"Are you?"

"Every day."

"Gill, this," he points to the folder. "This is you hanging on."

"You don't understand.

"I want to. I do."

"Then don't tell me to do this. Don't tell me to give up on her."

There; she has said it. The honesty causes the tears to form in her eyes.

"Gill, this ended years ago. You're stronger than this. You need to stop giving up on you."

"Oh stop with the psycho babble bullshit, Cal."

"Well one of us has to play that card, don't you think?"

She is motionless in front of him; hangs onto his words.

"Sweetheart, I know you're hurting, and it kills me to see you like this, but you'll need to talk to someone. And if you can't trust me with this, then you need someone else."

"I can't."

"You need to be strong enough to know when you need help, Gill."

She bursts into tears; falls forward and clutches to him.

"I just want the pain to go away, and I think that it does, but it just keeps coming back."

"It's not fair, what's happened to you," he soothes.

His hand rests flat on her back. Afraid as if he might hurt her; that she could fall to pieces in his arms.

Something tears within him.

"You don't deserve this, love. You don't deserve any of it."

She nods against him, curls to fit beneath his chin.

"I sometimes wonder. I sometimes dream about how my life would be different. I see me and Alec and Sophie. I see us happy and loving. I see me happy."

He brings a hand to her hair, strokes her gently. Places a kiss to her forehead.

"Maybe I wouldn't be so lonely. Maybe I wouldn't be such a wreck."

He takes her face, pulls her back from his body to look at her. He fights for positioning; fights to draw her eyes to his.

"You're not a wreck, love," finally, reaching her, drawing her in. "You're just hurting."

"I don't want to hurt anymore."

He places a kiss to her forehead again. Thumbs away a few tears which fall from her eyes. "We'll fix this, Gill. You and me."

She is quiet suddenly, looks up at him longingly, hopeful. "I hope so."

He runs a hand through her hair, leans forward and presses his lips to hers. She tastes salty and sweet and it takes her a moment to relax, before finally allowing her lips move on his own. He is gentle, and fights the passion growing within him.

He pulls back, watches as her eyes close. He leans in again, places another gentle kiss to her lips. Another to her forehead. A hand trails her back, another continuing its work on her hair; soft between his fingers.

"Stay with me," she whispers; her breath warm against his face.

It is enough invitation for him to move the folder beside her, crawl over her and draw her into his arms. Cradling her to his chest, he listens as her breathing calms. Her arms wrap tightly around him; her fingertips play casually with the fabric of his t-shirt.

"You're not a wreck, love." He looks down to see her curl tighter to him, watches as she nuzzles into him. "You're most definitely not alone."


	8. The Canary's Song: Outro

_AN: If you were wondering what I had in mind for after "**Sway**"... this is what came to me.  
Another one shot... or you can piece this together with "Sway"; I'll let you decide.  
(as fading to black is far too mean, even in one shot fanfic.)_

* * *

_The Canary's Song: Outro_

_

* * *

_

Gillian Foster's coat and purse in one hand, his car keys in the other, Cal Lightman turned toward his office, and stopped short in the doorway.

His sights fell quickly to Gillian Foster, asleep on his couch. His attention traveled to his empty bottle of 50 year old malt whiskey which was on display at the edge of his coffee table; a treasure of sorts, signalling her victory over him this evening.

He smiled as he approached the couch, looked down lovingly at his Gillian; his little pack rat.

He had left her alone for a few minutes and it had been long enough for her to take up residence on his leather couch.

She lay on her side, pillow beneath her head, arm supporting her. Her other hand hung freely over the side of the couch.

"Foster," he called to her softly.

She was quiet; her breathing kept time with the slow rise and fall of her chest.

"Gillian, time to go."

Nothing.

He reached forward, felt her shoulder, let his palm slide flat across her back. "Gill," he whispered.

Again; nothing.

Cal sighed and turned, placing her coat and purse on a nearby chair. He took hold of his heavy throw, unfolded it and draped it over her. She did not move; her eyes did not flutter. She was peaceful, serene, and he took a moment to read her face.

No crease, not a single line touched her features, and he wondered how long it had been since he had last seen her in this pleasant state of calm.

His hand reached forward, found the knob on his table lamp and turned. The room entered into a soft darkness; the only light entered his office through the open door.

He treaded lightly across the floor to his desk, opened a locked drawer and removed a half-full bottle of scotch. He poured himself a small glass, drank the liquid quickly and returned the bottle to its drawer.

His sights traveled back to his friend; back to her small frame.

Seconds ticked by slowly as he pondered his next move.

He opened his drawer again, removed the bottle of scotch and poured himself another glass. Relocking the bottle within the drawer for a second time, he carried the glass to stand in front of her.

If she dreamt, she showed no signs.

He grabbed a nearby pillow and took up residence on the floor beside the couch. He finished his drink, watched as her fingers twitched, heard as she cooed softly.

He smiled to himself and lay down, back flat on the floor.

He woke to the light brushing of fingertips across his chest. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Gillian Foster looking down at him from above; a smile spread from ear to ear.

"What are you doing on the floor?" she asked placing her palm flat against his chest.

Cal sat up suddenly, moved within inches of her face. "I..." he paused inhaling slowly, "...was sleeping."

Gillian smiled; her eyes fell to his lips. "Did you tuck me in, Cal?"

"I did." He cocked his head, traced her face with his eyes. "I was supposed to be taking you home. It looks like you were sidetracked."

She released a quick breath. "You know there's room up here."

"Up there?"

"With me."

"With you?"

Gillian giggled and cocked her head toward him. "With me."

"Are you sure that's a wise decision, Dr. Foster?"

"You scared, Dr. Lightman?"

"Scared?" He smiled leaning further toward her. His warm breath touched her face. "What? Scared of you?"

Gillian smiled and lifted herself on her elbow. She patted the place behind her. "Come on."

In one bound, Cal leapt from the floor and tucked himself in behind her. They fought for positioning, fought for control over the blankets and as she turned toward him, he settled, unsure of where to place his hands in their restricted setting.

"I won't bite, Cal."

She turned her hips toward him, fitting perfectly in line with his body.

"I might."

She smiled and brought her hands to his chest again; let them trail his body to his sides. He squirmed under her touch. She froze as his legs kicked out uncontrollably.

"Eh! No tickling."

Her smile turned playful, almost sinister. As her palms ran his body, her fingernails pressed into t-shirt. Again he kicked out.

"Oh come on!" he squeaked. "It's not fair."

She paused, looked up at him slowly. "What are you going to do about it?"

He lashed out with fingers moving quickly over her body. She erupted into a fit of giggles and drew her legs up to protect herself.

His hands reached up, grabbed her wrists, and drew them away from her body. They stared at one another, their breath heavy. He turned her onto her back, raised her arms above her head. His sights trailed her body; watched as her chest heaved with each breath.

He leaned down, hovered above her, rested inches from her lips, and waited for her to make the next move.

She reached up to him, filling the gap, and pressed her lips against his. He returned, let his tongue slide into her mouth; found her warm and hungry.

His hand released her wrist, trailed down her arm, down her side to find the hem of her shirt. Her breathing increased as his fingertips found her bare skin. She pulled from his kiss as his palm rested flat against her.

He froze and groaned as he removed his hands from her body. "Ah, shit. I'm sorry darling." He pulled away and leaned to rest against the couch.

"What?" she asked, lifting herself to meet him. "No, it's all right."

She kissed him gently but found his lips silent.

"It's okay," she urged and ran her hands down his arms which refused to hold her.

"But it's not all right. I'm a mess, Gill."

"You're not."

"I am." He smiled, brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm no good for you."

"Will you let me be the judge of that?"

"No."

Gillian sighed. "Just lie down with me, Cal." She pushed lightly against his shoulder as she lay back.

He refused to move and looked down at her with sadness in his eyes.

Frustration grew thick within her and she sighed again. "Cal, come here and hold me, dammit."

He smiled warmly. "Yes, ma'am."

He moved slowly and his hands found her again as she turned to rest in his arms. "I won't break, Cal."

After a few moments of shared silence, as his breathing relaxed and her arms wrapped around him, Gillian looked up at him and squinted in the dim lighting. "I never want to hear those words out of your mouth again."

"What? 'No tickling'?"

"Cal..." she trailed on.

He smiled, leaned down, found her lips and kissed her gently. "Never. I'll never say 'em."

"Good."

She turned back into him, wrapped herself tighter, and pressed her forehead to his chest.

After a few more moments of silence, with his eyes closed and Gillian treading closer to the beginning of deep sleep, Cal opened his mouth again.

"Gill?"

"Hmmm?"

"Does this mean the tickling is back on?"


	9. The Elevator

_The Elevator_

_

* * *

"You make me so mad sometimes."_

_"I know. Anything else?"_

And he's doing it again. Eyes searching her, making her forget her anger. Making her alter her positioning.

She looks away. Takes a step from his comfort.

_"So I made a couple of calls and Mrs. Baird is alive and well and living in Boston and Mr. Erkhardt died in a helicopter crash in 1999."_

_"So she's mixing up people from the present with people from the past."_

She can feel his eyes on her again; looking her up and down, noticing that she has left her coat open. Bearing witness to what she wants him to see.

_"Including Charlie?"_

_

* * *

_There was a bump and a screech as the elevator came to a halt. The box shook clutching to its emergency cables, causing its passengers to rock within.

Gillian Foster lost her balance and fell backward into open arms. Cal clung to her, helped her gain her balance once more.

"You all right?" Cal asked looking down at her lips. Her scent clung to him, drowned his senses. He blinked, regained his focus.

Gillian drew a shaking hand up to her hair and flicked a strand of light brown hair from her face. "Yes. Fine." She pulled herself from his arms and took two long strides across the elevator floor to the lighted panel.

She pressed the Emergency Call button once and waited, looking up to the lighted numbers above the door. There was no answer.

_The Seventh floor. They were stuck._

She pressed the Emergency Call button again. Again, she heard no answer.

"Nice." She muttered to herself and pressed the button again. A fourth time. A fifth time.

"We're stuck," she said, tension rising in her tone.

"Yes, thanks." Cal said crossing the floor to meet her. He placed a hand to her lower back. "I've figured that one out."

"The button's not working." Gillian said, pressing the button again and again.

"I've figured that out too."

Gillian stood up straight; her breathing rapid. "Don't just stand there, Cal. Do something."

Cal smirked and watched as her eyes closed, as she leaned away from him to support herself against a nearby wall.

"You all right, love?"

"Peachy." Her answer short, curt.

"Because you're turning pale." Cal took a step toward her. "Or green. I can't quite tell the difference in this terrible lighting."

Gillian opened her eyes to look at him and Cal saw the tears which were brimming in her eyes; the worry that flushed her brow.

"I'm fine." She closed her eyes again and fought to take a breath.

Cal reached out and took her by the hand, felt her palm thick with sweat. "I think you should sit down."

Gillian pulled her hand from his and took a step away from the wall. "I told you, I'm-"

He knees buckled beneath her as her arms reached out for him. Quickly, his arms shot out to take her in his arms again. He brought them instantly, gently to the floor.

Cal pulled back as they came to sit together; drew her hair away from her face.

"You still with me?"

"Yeah," she returned weakly; released another heavy, short breath.

"Not a big fan of the closed in spaces are we, Dr. Foster?"

Gillian smiled shyly. "Oh you're a sharp one, Sherlock."

Cal took up residence beside her, forced his arm around her drawing her to rest against him.

"We should start moving soon. There's probably just some malfunctioning with the phones, right? But this box looks like it's been built within the last 30 years, so it would have been mandatory to have maintenance on the cables at least once or twice."

"Cal?"

"Yeah."

Gillian turned to him slowly and swallowed, fighting against the lump which formed in her throat. "Could we talk about something else?"

Cal smiled and looked down at her slowly. "Like how wonderful you look right now?"

She smiled, cheekbones rising. "That'll do."

"You look lovely, Foster. Clean up nice, as they say." He looked her up and down again, nodding casually. "The shoes; nice touch."

Gillian shifted her body and crossed her legs at the ankles in front of her. "You think?"

"I know."

Gillian chuckled and threw her head back, resting against the wall. She closed her eyes.

Cal smiled and watched as her breathing calmed; watched each soft rise and fall of her chest.

"There is just one thing though." Cal said, interrupting their silence.

Gillian opened her eyes lazily. "What's that?"

Cal reached forward and gently removed her coat from her right shoulder. His fingertips lightly brushed her skin and Gillian had to suppress the small noise from forming in her throat. She fought against the instant reaction to close her eyes drunkenly.

Cal took her dress strap from her arm and moved it back onto her shoulder, aligning it perfectly with her bra strap.

"Oh." Gillian squeaked. She cleared her throat and ignored the smirk that formed on his face. "Thank you."

Cal leaned back to look at her; rested his hands on her upper thigh. "No problem."

"What are friends for, and all that?" Gillian said; the hint of ire ringing true.

"You're well put together, Gill. Wouldn't want it out of place."

"I-" She began but was distracted, lost in his fingertips which absentmindedly traced across the hem of her dress. He was gentle, his hands warm, and she was losing her battle to keep her breathing calm. Taken with him, her eyes were threatening to close once more.

His hands ran up her sides slowly and he traveled with them to rest beside her once more; running along the seam of her dress. Her breath heavy again, he looked up to watch as her cheeks flushed; her lips as they turned a deeper red.

"That's better," he said.

Gillian cocked her head slightly and swallowed. "What's better?"

"And here I was thinking that I might have to perform CPR on you?" Her dark blues radiant as she looked at him. "Unless of course you want me to."

There was a bump and a screech as the emergency brake released itself.

Cal and Gillian looked up to watch as the numbered lights flickered on and off, one by one, as they made their steady descent down to the ground floor.


	10. More Than This

_More Than This_

_

* * *

_

The door opened to his office startling Cal Lightman and Detective Sharon Wallowski.

With an air of authority, Gillian Foster entered making eye contact with Cal. Hips swinging in time to the beat of her heels, she walked toward them gracefully.

As she approached the desk, Cal cocked his head toward her and shifted on the balls of his feet. The air seemed to alter in the room; Sharon looked at Gillian nervously.

"Foster." Cal's tone more of a question than a greeting.

Gillian crossed her arms; her sights turning from Sharon to Cal.

"Cal," she returned.

Cal smiled, baring white teeth. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Gillian returned the smile coyly. "No pleasure at all. Just wondering what you're working on."

"Nothing for your pretty self to worry about, love."

Gillian scoffed. "It's hardly anything when this one's involved." She pointed a single finger in Sharon's direction.

"Hey!" Sharon exclaimed. "I resent that!"

"Resent it all you want," Gillian said turning her body back to Cal.

"Kitty has claws," Cal murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." Cal placed his hands in his pockets, let his sights fall to Gillian's feet. "New shoes?"

Gillian's eyes narrowed on him. She pressed her lips tightly together. "I've been the silent passenger to this little 'Keep Gillian in the Dark' game you two are playing for far too long."

Sharon shifted her weight. "There's no game, Gill."

Gillian glared at Sharon causing her to take a step back. "Don't 'Gill' me, Detective. It's Dr. Foster to you."

"What do you have against me?" Sharon said turning toward her. "You jealous?"

"I have nothing against you, Detective." She cocked her head and slowly trailed her eyes over Sharon. "And it's certainly not jealousy."

"Then what's with the Queen Bitch act?"

Cal took a step away from his desk, the tension now dangerous between the two women in front of him. He reached forward, took Gillian by the elbow and pulled her toward him.

"Will you excuse us," he asked Sharon and stepped backward through the door of his library.

Gillian stumbled after him, lengthening her stride to keep from falling over.

Once inside, Cal reached around her to slide the door closed behind them.

"You all right, love?" He cocked his head up at Gillian and pressed himself toward her. She took a step back; placed a hand to his chest to distance him.

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"Excuse me?"

"You need that in English?"

"Cut the crap, Cal."

"Somebody twist your knickers in a knot?"

Gillian sighed. "My knickers are just fine."

"I'll be the judge."

She pushed against his chest again, this time with more force. He took another step back.

"What are you keeping from me this time?" she asked.

"Nuthin'"

"Cal?"

"Really."

"Now who's the liar?"

Cal stepped toward her, pressed his body against her, forcing her against the door. His voice low, he searched her face. "What you saw in there, was nothing more, than a pleasant conversation between friends."

Unimpressed, Gillian raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?" She smiled; lips tight. "I know how you get around her."

"Right."

"You're flustered." She relaxed her face; altered her voice, mocking his accent. "Flittering about."

"Am not."

Gillian exhaled and reached up to grab his chin. She turned his head from side to side. "Cal Lightman!" she gasped. "You're blushing."

He grinned, bared his teeth to her. "Nah, that's all you love. You know how you make me _hot_."

His last words lingered, clung to her, caused her eyes to close involuntarily.

Cal shook his head out of her grip, waking her from her reverie.

"You really like her, don't you?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"She's a source, Gill."

Dissatisfied, she shifted her weight. "Are you looking for my approval?" She motioned toward him. "Is that all you need?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Cal stepped into her again, looped a finger into her front jeans pocket, drawing her even closer to him. His eyes lingered on her hips. "These new?"

She took a weak breath. Ashamed of her vulnerability, the heat rose quickly to her cheeks. "Cal..."

"Truth?"

Gillian sighed.

"You're my number one, Gill."

Gillian blinked slowly, reached down to take his hand from her pocket. "You know that saying about having your cake and eating it too?"

"I love cake."

Gillian smiled. "You can't always get what you want, Cal."

"But I can damn well try."

Gillian reached behind her and pushed on the door to slide it open. She took a step backward releasing Cal's hand, turned and paused. She stared at Sharon for a moment, read the embarrassment on her face.

Gillian spun around, turning into Cal who had followed her closely out of the library.

"Word to the wise... with regard to that cake..." Her voice lowered, she leaned into him placing her lips to his ear. "You might want to try a little harder." Satisfied, she pulled back slowly, let her words sink in.

Cal smiled, nodding slightly; his eyes locked with hers.

Her back to Sharon, Gillian turned to leave.

"Always a pleasure, Detective," she said as she exited the office.

Sharon took a few steps toward Cal. "She say something about cake?"

"Yeah." Cal watched as the door closed shut behind Gillian. "Apparently, I need to do some baking."


	11. The Muse

_The Muse_

_

* * *

_

Cal Lightman edged through the hallways of The Lightman Group. Around a sharp corner he turned and heard the joyous laughter of Ria Torres and Gillian Foster echoing through the corridors. Glasses clinked as Christmas music filled his surroundings. He sauntered toward the doorway of Gillian's office and waited until both women looked up to make his acquaintance.

Dressed in black dress and overcoat, Gillian Foster was seated at her desk; Ria, dressed in a purple mini and white blouse, in front of her.

Gillian smiled widely and tipped her glass toward him. "Cal! How good of you to join us."

Cal shrugged his shoulders and removed his heavy overcoat as he stepped through her doorway. "You know me. Never miss a party and so on."

Ria, barefoot, stood up and drunkenly tiptoed toward him. Whiskey glass in hand, she eyed him sheepishly and raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck. "Merry Christmas, Boss," she slurred.

Cal wrapped his arms around her gingerly, and gently patted her back.

She swayed with him slowly and pulled back slightly to kiss him on the cheek. Her eyes rested on his cheek; satisfied with the lipsticked reminder she left there.

Cal held her at arms length, placing his hands on her hips. He looked from her to Gillian and back again, eyed them suspiciously.

"You two been into my liquor cabinet again?"

"'Fraid not," Gillian interjected, taking a long sip from her glass.

Ria giggled in Cal's arms. "This one's a gift for Foster."

"Is that so?"

"So."

Gillian smiled and reached forward seizing the opened bottle in front of her. She poured herself another glass and leaned back in her chair. She looked down, pulled at the hem of her skirt straightening it.

"It was a gift from a certain friend of yours," Gillian said, taking another long sip of the dark liquid.

"A certain two-wheeled friend?" he asked

"It may very well be." She crossed her legs. "A bit of a thank you gift, I guess."

Cal released Ria and took strides to edge around Gillian's desk. "What kind of a thank you? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Gillian looked down to her glass; swirled the liquid in it. "Said I awakened something in him, so to speak. A muse of sorts."

"A muse." Cal smiled. "Brilliant."

Gillian looked away from her glass to Ria. She smiled casually pleading silent instructions. Ria nodded in time, and brought her glass to her mouth swallowing the remains of her drink quickly. She took a few steps toward the door, stopped and returned to the chair. She reached down and slowly lifted a pair of black pumps from the floor.

Gillian swiveled in her chair until she made light contact with Cal. She rested her high heeled pump against the inside of his leg, lifted her toe carefully gaining his attention.

"So should I be worried?" he asked.

Gillian smiled impressed. "Why? You jealous?" She looked up at him from behind her glass.

"What?" he asked, face reading forced shock. "Of him? Pretty sure I can out-hurdle him."

Gillian stood slowly. She looked down, placed her glass on her desk and crossed her arms. "That's mean."

Cal smiled slightly and raised his hands in his defense. He watched her carefully; watched as her forced anger gave way to a playful smile. He opened his arms, inviting her silently, and she stepped into him willingly. She sighed; rolled her shoulder to fit against him perfectly.

"Merry Christmas, love," he said into her hair; breathed her in slowly.

She swayed, forced him to move with her to the music. She uttered something inaudible from the back of her throat and he did his best to understand. Instead, he felt it deep within him and let it take him over. It instructed his hands to move gently on her back; to run his fingertips through her hair.

She refused to move from him. She clung to him; let him support her.

"There is one thing you'll have to explain," she said after some time.

"What's that?"

"This sudden, seemingly exuberant, decorating of my office."

Cal was silent. He looked about the room; what seemed to him unchanged.

Gillian pulled away from him, enough to draw an arm free and point upward.

Cal followed her gaze. Lining the ceiling, were many clusters of mistletoe arranged strategically, awaiting their intended. Cal's eyes grew wide with amazement.

Gillian's brow furrowed reading his reaction. "You didn't do this?"

Cal shook his head and met her eyes again. "No." He brushed his fingertips along her hairline; pushed her hair from her face. He cupped her cheek. "I don't need help from a plant, Gill."

He searched her eyes, waited for approval. He lowered his lips to hers and placed a gentle kiss.

Her eyes opened slowly. She raised her brow. "That's it? For all that mistletoe?"

She smiled as they met again; mouths open. Their teeth clashed as tongues collided in drunken warmth. Her hands reached out to clutch his body, steadying herself against him. She felt light headed. Her eyes closed.

She breathed heavily; sighed into his mouth as his tongue explored hungrily. She drew into him; pushed her chest against him. She felt his heart beat heavily against her, felt his breathing quicken in time with hers.

His hand cupped her face; her hair held lightly between his fingers. He pulled away slowly; placed a few more gentle kisses to her lips.

He smiled; eyes shining. "Better?"

"Much."

* * *

"Oi!" Cal called down the hallway after his daughter, Emily.

Emily's long curls bounced as she ran. She placed an arm around his middle.

He drew an arm across her shoulders. "You 'bout ready to go?"

"I am." Her eyes brightened as she saw Gillian approach them.

Gillian, purse in hand, struggled with her coat and looked to Cal.

Cal bounded forward and guided Gillian into her coat. He ran his hands across her shoulders straightening its lines. He trailed a hand across her back. "Ready?" he asked her.

She nodded and reached into her purse. She pulled out leather gloves and looked up at Emily.

Emily smiled and skipped forward; placed an arm around her father again.

With Gillian out of earshot, Cal tilted his head toward his daughter. "Again, brilliant job with the decorating Em," he whispered. "Especially with Foster's office."

Gillian turned slowly as she reached the exit and looked back at Emily and Cal. Gillian bit her lip and looked at the pair questionably.

Emily smiled at her father as they reached the door and shrugged out of his hold. "I have no clue what you're talking about."


	12. Slugger

_Slugger_

_

* * *

_

"Will you be needing anything else, Dr. Lightman?" Anna took the file from Cal Lightman's hands and waited patiently beside him.

Cal sat at his desk, face lit by the glow of his laptop, cursor blinking repeatedly.

Anna brought the file to her chest and held it tightly. She cleared her throat quietly.

"Dr. Lightman?"

"Right." Cal blinked and looked up quickly. "No. I'm fine. Night."

"Night," she said and disappeared through the darkness of his library.

Cal placed a hand to his chin and sighed, his sights focussed on the blinking cursor. He racked his subconscious, looked within it for a hint of what he was to write. He grimaced.

_Still nothing._

_Why can't this bloody thing write itself?_ He thought leaning back in his chair.

Frustrated with his inability to produce a complete thought, he reached forward unlocking his desk drawer and removed a bottle of whiskey. He searched within the drawer, removed a glass and poured himself a sizeable drink.

He leaned back; again his eyes remained transfixed on the blinking cursor.

An email alert appeared in the lower half of his screen, drawing his attention . He clicked on it: _A message from Gillian Foster._

The email was short and to the point: _My office. Now. It's Alec._

Cal pushed himself from his chair, rolling backward.

He tread forward quickly, rounded a corner to find a small group standing stock still in the hallway outside Gillian Foster's office.

Gillian and Alec's voices resonated toward him, meshed together with the hallway's chatter.

"Not everybody all at once, now," Cal muttered to himself as he quickened his pace.

Cal reached her doorway, made eye contact with Loker who looked bewildered. Eyes wide, he stared at Cal for instruction. In his hand, he held a baseball bat.

"Clear the onlookers will ye," Cal asked him. He reached in Loker's hand taking the bat from his grasp. Silently, Cal opened the glass door and slipped inside.

Gillian was pushed up against her bookcase, keeping herself a foot's distance from Alec. Dressed in black coat and jeans, Alec flailed his hands in front of her.

"All I want to do is talk," Alec said motioning toward her.

Gillian held out her hand, pushed against his chest. She was agitated yet unwavering in her tone. "Alec, I think you should leave. We'll talk tomorrow."

Cal read her features instantly; saw the fear in her eyes, the shaking in her hands as she removed them from Alec.

Cal placed the bat behind him and cleared his throat. "I think you should do what she says, Alec."

Alec looked quickly behind him to Cal and turned back to Gillian placing a hand against the bookcase on one side of her. "Really, Gill. You call the cavalry?"

"Just go, Alec." Gillian's familiar calm tone was quickly melting away revealing her agitated state.

Cal took a step toward them. Gillian's frightened eyes met his own; a warning. "Come on, Alec. I'll walk you out."

"No!" Alec shouted, startling Gillian, who pressed herself further against the glass door cabinetry. "I don't need an escort. I just want to talk to my wife."

"I'm not your wife," Gillian whispered. "Not anymore."

Alec exhaled heavily. His breathing quickened. "You're still my wife." His hands tightened; fists clenched white.

"We're separated."

Alec slapped his hand against the cabinetry. "Dammit, Gill! You're still mine and we're going to talk." He reached forward and clutched her left arm.

Cal took a step forward, tightened his grip around the bat but not before Gillian swung, her free arm flying, right fist making contact with Alec's jaw.

Alec spun backward and Cal stepped between them pushing Gillian behind him. He held the bat in front of him, swung it threateningly.

Alec slowly stood up straight. Red eyed, he clutched his jaw. Cal could hear Gillian gasping behind him, struggling to regain steady breath.

"Gill..." Alec trailed on.

Cal shook the bat at his side and pointed toward the door. "I suggest you leave, _now_, Alec. Before I have good mind to make a mess _in here_."

Alec nodded slightly and slowly made his way to the door. He looked behind him to make one last look at Gillian, but instead found Cal, baseball bat now held in both hands.

Loker met Alec at the door, guided him down the hallway.

Cal turned to Gillian.

Tears running down both cheeks, Cal reached up to touch her face. "You all right, love?" he questioned wiping a tear away before it had a chance to fall.

"I'm fine." She held up her hand to him. It shook uncontrollably and he dropped the bat to take it gently in both hands.

Cal ran gentle fingertips over it, carefully pressing into her joints. She inhaled quickly, grimaced as he worked over her knuckles.

"You closed your fist?"

"I think so."

Cal furrowed; pressed his lips tightly together.

"Is it broken?" she asked.

Cal looked up at her, reached up to cup her face. "No. But I will get you some ice."

* * *

Bag of ice in hand, Cal entered Gillian's office and found her seated on her couch. The TVs volume low; the day's events flowed by on the CNN news ticker.

She smiled shyly as he approached her, reached out to take the bag he offered. "Thank you," she said placing it on her hand still shaking with after-effects.

"No, here." Cal pulled out a towel. He sat beside her, took the bag of ice and wrapped it in the towel. Gently, he placed it on her hand.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better."

He leaned back, opened his arm around her as she sat back with him.

They watched the news in silence.

After some time, she looked down at her hand and removed the ice bag. She held up her hand, the shaking now gone.

"You want to tell me what happened," he asked her, lightly touching her shoulder.

She replaced the ice bag and looked to him. "He was high, Cal."

"I got that." Cal reached up to fix a strand of her hair which had fallen out of place. "What did he want to talk about?"

She closed her eyes at his touch and immediately opened them. Taking a short breath, she looked away. "I think he wants to get back together." She moved her hand under the ice bag. "He's been calling incessantly. Says he's a changed man."

"We'll get you a guard."

She smiled at his immediate response. "Cal, he's harmless."

Cal cocked his head. "Really?" He shifted his body closer to hers, reached up to stroke her hair. "That's not what I saw tonight. Clearly he hasn't changed, Gill."

"You don't know him." She sighed. "He wouldn't hurt me."

Cal continued to run his fingertips lightly through her hair. "I'm not going to take that chance, love."

Gillian steadied her breath, closed her eyes at his touch. "Sounds like I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"No." Cal smiled; a wide grin. "You don't."

They were silent, the TV interrupting their heated stare. Cal reached down, removed her iced bag. Carefully, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss there. Again, Gillian sighed, closing her eyes to the sensation of his warm lips against her cold skin.

Cal placed his palm over her hand, warming it. "You ready to go?" He replaced the ice bag. "I'll take you home."

"I can drive, Cal."

He smiled. "Again, that wasn't a request."

She nodded slightly and licked her lips. "I suppose you won't be requesting to stay in my spare bedroom tonight, either, will you?"

"Right you are, Doctor." Cal leaned forward and stood, offering a hand to her. "I do, however, have one request."

She accepted his offer with her good hand. "And what's that?"

"I require pancakes in the morning."

Gillian smiled looping her arm in his. "Deal."


	13. The Red Dress

_The Red Dress_

_

* * *

_

Dressed in a tailored, three-piece suit, Cal Lightman pushed on the heavy entrance doors to The Lightman Group. He held a door aside and waited for Gillian Foster to enter behind him. She was dressed in a low-cut, red dress, hitting her just at the knees. The outfit was complimented perfectly with a pair of patent leather, pointed toe, Louboutin pumps and matching handbag.

Her hips swinging, Cal let Gillian walk in front of him; his eyes set on the length of her legs, the way her calf muscles tightened with each step.

Gillian looked over her shoulder and turned slowly to face him. She expertly continued her pace backward, ignoring his gaze as he slowly traced the lines of her dress.

"Cal?" She began as she edged around a corner. She held up her hand and stopped him in his tracks. "Your office is that way."

Cal looked up at her, hunger in his eyes. "Aren't we needed in The Cube together?"

Gillian opened her purse and searched blindly for her lip gloss. "Five minutes. I need to get changed."

"What?" Cal said astonished. "You're changing?"

Applying the gloss to her lips, Gillian looked down at her dress and immediately looked up at Cal whose eyes had found her plunging neckline. "And what? You think I should go in there dressed like this?" She reached forward, hit him on the shoulder, breaking his focus. "This is not exactly what you'd consider office attire, Cal. Don't you think I'm a tad overdressed."

"More like under-dressed." Cal took a step back playfully, raised his hands out to the side. "You could be quite persuasive dressed like _this_." He leaned forward, swayed toward her. "Know what I'm saying?"

Gillian reached out again, pushed him backward. "Five minutes. I'll meet you in there."

* * *

Cal entered his library and removed his coat. He flung it absentmindedly on a nearby chaise and kicked off his dress shoes. He sat in a heap on the chaise, lifted his legs and sprawled, stretching out. He loosened his tie, released a heavy breath and closed his eyes.

Five minutes was all he needed.

He heard Gillian's familiar steps approach him but refrained from opening his eyes; not quite ready for the attack they were planning on their unsuspecting _'Cubed'_ witness.

"Oh good," she said and he heard the sound of the door sliding to the room. "You're here."

Cal let his head roll to the side and opened his eyes.

Still dressed in her red dress, she turned her back on him and pointed to the seam that ran down the middle of her back. "Aye, aye." He exclaimed and stood slowly. "What's this?"

"My zipper, Cal." She sighed. "It's stuck."

He edged toward her and waited silently. He flicked his finger; itching to touch her.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "A little help," she said, frustrated.

He reached forward to touch the seam of her dress and her head bowed instantly. He ran a hand across her shoulders, pushed aside her hair, letting it pass softly between his fingers. He watched as goose bumps formed on her freckled skin and he smiled to himself, satisfactorily.

He watched as her shoulders surrendered to his touch and he slipped his fingers into her dress and pulled gently at the fabric caught within the zipper. It gave way easily in his careful motions and he lowered the zipper slowly revealing more soft skin. He trailed gentle fingertips behind in its wake; let them trace a line down the center her back. Transfixed by the steady motion of her breathing, he paused at the small of her back and lifted his eyes to see her head still bowed low.

Blushed, bare skin revealed to him; she burned hot. He fought back the urge to run his hands over her body; to push aside the dress' red silky fabric; to pull her into him; to place kisses down the lines of her neck; to claim her as his own.

She felt his hesitation; lifted her head collecting the front of her dress. "Thank you," she whispered, as she turned to him.

Cal smiled at her and licked his lips. "Anything else?" he asked.

She looked up at him; eyes wide in the darkness, voice thready. "I think I can manage."

"Five minutes?"

"Mmm hmm," she choked.

He took a few steps toward the door and turned to her again. "No help? Whatsoever?"

Gillian tapped a foot and shifted her weight. "Cal..."

"Because I can be of more help than that."

He took another step toward the door and pivoted back, turning directly into an expertly thrown pillow.

"Out!" she commanded, pointing toward the door with an outstretched finger.

He lifted his hands in his defence, stealing another opportunity to run his eyes over her tight curves. He grabbed the edge of the door and pushed it aside. "One more thing," he said vacating the room.

"What's that?" she called after him, clearly not amused with his stalling techniques.

He poked his head back through the door. "Never pegged you for a laced thong kind of girl, Foster." Her face flushed. Lines formed at the corners of her mouth. "I'd be happy to help with those, too."

He was quick to avoid the attack; firmly sliding the door shut before the heavy book could make contact with his head.

The book made a thud as it fell to the floor and the library door slid open slightly. Cal carefully poked his head through the small opening.

"Just sayin'."


	14. The Burns'

_The Burns'_

_

* * *

_

Cal Lightman and Gillian Foster walked the hallways of Emerson Preparatory School being pushed from side to side by students traveling between classes. The hallways were a menagerie of lockers slamming, students laughing, and water fountains running.

As the chaos dissolved, one figure stood in the hallway with them. Gillian looked up, took sight of the familiar shape in the distance.

The figure closed the classroom door and walked toward them. His steps were hesitant; echoed slightly against the lockers to either side of them.

Gillian stood still, heartbeat resonating within her ears. Her cheeks flushed.

Cal took a few steps away from her, was the first to reach the tall figure.

"Aie! Aie!" He exclaimed reaching out his hand. "Burnsy. Long time."

Dave Atherton took no notice to Cal and brushed by him quickly to stand in front of Gillian. He reached out slightly and quickly pulled his hands back, eyes locked with hers. She did the same; reached out to touch his dress shirt, his tie and quickly pulled her hands back. The air grew heavy around them, neither noticed Cal who stood by eavesdropping.

"You're here," she choked, her voice failing her.

"For a time, yes," he said. He took another step toward her, took a deep breath to breathe her in. "You were looking for me?"

She smiled, white teeth showing. "No." Again, she reached out to take his tie between her fingertips. "We have an interview to conduct."

"An interrogation of sorts, you know," Cal interrupted.

Dave and Gillian remained locked in their moment, hands shook with the desire to hold one another; to feel the blouse she wore against his palm, to feel his hair within her grasp again. His hand at the small of her back, the way his lips felt as they brushed against her skin.

Gillian smiled again and exhaled; Dave did the same. Cal danced from foot to foot.

"Mr. Avery!"

Their focus turned down the hall to a woman who walked toward them quickly. Short, stout, her mop of curly brown hair bounced up and down keeping perfect time with each springy step.

"Mr. Avery," she said exhaling quickly. "I was just going to ask you-" and off Dave's less than pleased glance, "Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me." The woman reached out grasping onto Cal's hand with ease. "Mrs. Lovejoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Pleasure," Cal murmured, beaming a large toothed smile.

Mrs. Lovejoy blushed, her cheeks round and rosy. She inhaled and quickly turned back to Dave. "Mr. Avery, I have a bit of an emergency, in my classroom."

"Is it a student?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I can see you're busy..."

"Velma..."

"It's that projector again. Since they upgraded the system..." She exhaled looking up at him with big round eyes. "I'm all thumbs."

Dave smiled down at her and looked to Gillian from the corner of his eye. "All right, Velma, we'll see about his projector."

"Are you sure?" She pressed her hands together.

"I'm sure."

She looked to Gillian and Cal and back to Dave. "But you seem to be entertaining."

Cal pressed himself against Gillian, wrapped his arm around her, placing his hand into the back pocket of her jeans. Gillian straightened.

"That's all right, love," Cal said, swaying Gillian in his arms. "Me and the Missus are just having a go around campus." He turned to Gillian, licked his lips. "Ain't that right, love?"

Gillian glanced at Cal and turned her back to Mrs. Lovejoy. "Yep, that's right."

"Trying to find the best place for our Emily, that is." Cal pressed his lips to Gillian's temple, lingered there until she pulled from him casually.

Mrs. Lovejoy clapped her hands and jumped slightly into the air. "Oh wonderful! You'll find no better place than Emerson!"

"So we've been told," Cal said, returning her enthusiasm perfectly. He smiled widely, shook Gillian gently against him. "The sky is the limit for _our _Em."

Mrs. Lovejoy took a step toward them startling Gillian. "You should talk to the Head of our school. I could take you to him."

Cal smiled, raised his eyebrows. "Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt, you know."

Mrs. Lovejoy's brow furrowed. "There are t-shirts?"

Dave reached out, placed a hand on Mrs. Lovejoy's shoulder. "It's a figure of speech, Velma."

She looked up at Dave with an air of confusion. "Oh. Right."

Dave smiled. "How about you show me that projector of yours and we'll let the Burns' get on with their business." Dave looked up, winked slightly at Gillian who smiled back.

Mrs. Lovejoy smiled brightly reached out to shake Cal and Gillian's hands. "Pleasure meeting you Burns'. I hope we see you soon."

With Dave and Mrs. Lovejoy out of earshot, Cal scoffed. "Burns'. Brilliant." He turned Gillian with him and they began their trek down the hallway.

"Cal?" Gillian said turning into him, placing a hand on his chest.

"Yes, love."

"Could you kindly take your hand off my ass?"


	15. Uncover

_Uncover  
_

_

* * *

_

"_So five wives in two and a half years and every one of them on the rebound. I couldn't even get near you when you were on the rebound."_

"_Maybe you didn't try hard enough."_

"_You saying I had a chance?"_

_

* * *

_

"Hold the phone." Cal Lightman barged through Gillian Foster's office door and took the needed steps to stand in front of her desk. "Back there," he said dancing from foot to foot. "Did you mean that? 'Cause, from where I'm standing, it sure as hell looked like you meant it."

"Meant what?" she asked, crossing her legs.

"That whole bit with me having a chance and all." He paused, held out his hands, and rethought his words. "Well, back then, there was a chance, at least that's what I think you said."

"Cal?"

He sighed, danced forward. "So was there?" He shifted his weight again, lowered his voice seductively. "Is there?"

Gillian smiled warmly, leaned back impressed with herself. "You're the reader, you tell me."

Cal lowered his shoulders and surrendered. "No games, Gill."

Gillian uncrossed her legs slowly and stood from her chair. She stepped gingerly toward him. "But you like games."

He grinned widely, bared his teeth. "Maybe not now, love. It's late and I have Em waiting on me."

"And the waiting I've done?" It was uttered quicker than she had hoped and she flicked her fingers nervously, tugged at the fabric that clung to her hips.

"Wha?" he sauntered forward, leaned toward her.

She blushed; looked to the floor to focus on a particular spot. "Nothing."

"Ah, come on now. I'm looking for a dose of the Technically-Sound-Doctor-Foster-Psycho-babble, not '_Nothing'_."

Gillian crossed her arms, remained silent.

"Come on love, don't stonewall me now." He took another step, reached up to take her elbows in his hands.

She sighed; uncrossed her arms, shaking from his grasp. "Now, Cal? Now you want to talk?"

He lowered his voice, drew in closer to breathe her in; strawberries and frustration. "I can't help it. You've _stroked_ my curiosity."

She smiled and he watched the frustration fall from her features; radiance shining through. Silently, he congratulated himself on his small achievement.

"You know I always have difficulty when it comes to you, right?" He placed his hands on her hips, tugged her forward.

"I know." She inhaled slowly, afraid he would hear the quickening of her heartbeat. "So what's my face reading then, Doctor Lightman?"

Cal reached up slowly, traced his fingertips across her temple. "Brow relaxed; eyes wide, pupils slightly dilated." He brushed her hair from her face, traced the curve of her earlobe. "Lobes warm, cheeks burning." He placed his palm flat against her face, cupped her cheek. He touched her chin, lifted it so her eyes met his own.

Slowly she closed her eyes, blushed again as her face deepened a darker shade of red. She released a breath; let his hands fall from her face.

"You know, there's a particular body part I'm especially good with." His eyes traveled back to her mouth, lingered there as he aligned his body against her.

She smiled; lips parted. "What's that?" Her eyes shone and darkened, as she allowed him to take her, hips secured in his hands.

They swayed together, fought for balance with shaky knees. His palms rested against her lower back.

Pressed to his body, she tilted her head as he dipped toward her. She saw him smile; lick his lips as he filled the space between them and pressed his lips to hers.

They waited little time before their tongues dipped into one another's mouths.

She was wet, warm and minty against his tongue; the taste of her lipstick clung to his lips as he took her more hungrily.

Her hands reached out for him, drew him to her tightly. She raised her self on her toes; relishing at the height gain, the sense of power which tread thick across her middle. Her lips tingled with the sense of his scruff, but she kissed him furiously, lost in his heavy breathing against her skin.

His hands found her hair. He wrapped strands of it within his grasp; tugged lightly to pull her back from their heated passion.

She lowered herself from her toes and slowly opened her dark eyes to him.

He smiled wide, loosened his grip on her hair. "Aye, aye."

She smiled back, licked her lips. "Is that the answer you were looking for?" She reached up with two hands; traced her thumbs across his lips to remove the pink lipsticked reminder of their kiss.

He watched her thumbs as she pulled them away. "What?" he exhaled. "Not my colour?"

She smiled, cheekbones rising. "You're more of a Tahitian Rose, kind of chap."

He chuckled low, leaned down close to her lips again. "I think you're more my colour."


	16. The Bet

_The Bet_

_

* * *

_

The daylight was beginning to fade in the already dimly lit bar as Cal Lightman and Eli Loker settled in for a long night, high above the bar riddled with suspicious folk galore.

Safe behind one-way glass, Cal perched himself on a bar stool and set his focus on a particular thick, muscular chap playing pool with a tall, lanky man. The muscular man's tight fitted, black t-shirt, rippled down over his torso. The remaining striped balls clearly to his advantage, the muscular man smiled smugly and took another shot. The ball sunk into the desired pocket with ease, much to the lanky man's horror.

"I'll be the one wiping the smug off your face, that's for sure," Cal muttered under his breath.

Eli coughed turning his attention to a tall, large, bald-headed barman who had entered through the door behind them. Eli stepped forward.

"Thank you for assisting us in this, Mister...?"

The barman turned to Eli and wrung the white towel in his hands. "Buffy."

Eli smiled awkwardly. "Buffy?"

The barman took a step forward and glared down at Eli, towering at least a foot over him. "Just... Buffy."

Eli looked up slowly from the man's thick chest. "Buffy it is then."

Cal turned back to the window, focused his attention back to their intended. Cal watched as the man sunk another ball into the far corner pocket. Cal counted the balls remaining; the man was a few skilled shots away from winning.

"Buffy...," Eli continued. "Were your parents fans of the vampire slayer, by any chance?"

Buffy grunted. Eli coughed again.

"Because, you know, I always thought she represented the _misunderstood_, the _mentally_ _strong_. The slaying wasn't something she could have helped; she was just really, really good at it." He swallowed. "Much like you, I'm sure. _Misunderstood_. _Mentally_ s_trong_. _Tough_. You just don't need a stake of sorts. I'm sure you're pretty good at solving your own problems. You're big... Really big... Buff even, which begs the question to whether you fit the name or the name, fits you."

Buffy's back straightened. "Are you finished?"

"Well..."

Buffy looked toward Cal. "Is this guy for real?" he asked.

"'Fraid so, Buff," Cal uttered never taking his sights from the muscled man at the pool table.

"It's honesty. It's the truth," Eli retorted.

Cal checked his watch; looked toward the bar's entrance.

_Any minute now..._

And as if the doors had sensed his desires, they opened for him. In walked a woman, immediately turning the heads of those seated at the bar with lager in hand. She smiled graciously and nodded to the barkeeper. She received a silent signal which led her straight toward Cal.

Cal was waiting for the arrival of someone, but that someone was not Gillian Foster.

He sighed.

Her familiar footsteps echoed in the stairwell to his left and it was seconds before she emerged from the darkness.

Buffy immediately turned from Eli and placed the white bar towel on his shoulder. He rubbed his hands together.

"Hello," he greeted her, his voice carrying like a song. "Is there anything I can get for you, Miss?"

Gillian smiled shyly and looked toward Cal nervously as Buffy towered above her. "No, thank you," she pointed toward Cal. "I'll just..." she trailed on, as she gingerly stepped around Buffy.

"Hello _Gillian_," Cal greeted with disdain.

Gillian cocked her head back. "_Lightman_," she said returning his tone. "What?"

"What are you doing here?"

"My job." Her brow furrowed. "I'm checking on your progress." She looked from Eli back to Cal bewildered. "Do you have the source yet?"

Cal pointed toward the pool table below. "There raking in his winnings." Cal grimaced.

Confusion traced across Gillian's brow. "That's our source? What are you waiting for?"

Eli sidled up to them. "He's not the source. He's our source's source, so to speak." Eli held out a bowl of bar nuts to them, shoved a fistful in his mouth. "Now," he continued, shaking his finger at them. "Why do these things always taste better in a bar?"

Gillian and Cal stared at him; neither responded.

Gillian pointed toward the pool table. "Have you talked to him?"

"Lightman is playing it cool," Eli said, tossing another handful of bar nuts in his mouth.

"Cool?" she questioned. "You're hiding."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Look Gill," Cal said turning on his stool toward her. "If I had thought you could be of assistance, do you think I would've brought _'nut mouth'_ here?"

"Hey!" Eli muffled through a full mouth.

"Really?" Gillian crossed her arms.

Cal leaned toward her, lowered his voice. "Do I make myself clear?"

She smiled wide, lips tight. "You don't think I can do this better?"

"I can guarantee it."

"A bottle of Pétrus vintage says otherwise."

Cal leaned back, looked out over the crowd to their intended who was ordering a drink.

"And if you lose?"

Gillian rolled her eyes and leaned into him. She sighed close to his ear. "You know that tennis outfit..."

She lifted from him slowly, shifted her weight as she looked down at him.

"Really?"

Gillian raised an eyebrow.

Cal smiled satisfactorily, held out his hand. "Oh, you're on Doctor."

Gillian returned his smile and shook his hand.

She lowered her purse down her arm. "Here," she said placing her bag into Cal's lap. "Hold this.

Gillian rolled her shoulders and shook from her suit jacket. "You take this," she instructed Eli.

She pulled at her blouse and untucked it fully. She undid a button exposing the hint of a black, laced bra. Immediately her hands fell to her skirt which she rolled at her waist, lengthening her legs with each turn of the fabric. The slit which had once exposed her knee, now revealed a muscular thigh.

Cal and Eli watched in amazement as she reached into her bag, pulling out a small spray bottle.

She flipped her head while applying the product, and ran her hands through her hair scrunching it in parts. She found a mirror on the wall beside them and smiled at her reflection, impressed with her _bedhead_ look.

Cal was silent as she reached back in her bag, pulling eyeliner and mascara from within. She applied each product with ease and quickly dove back into her bag to fetch at darker shade of lipstick.

Back in front of the mirror, she applied the lipstick, and drew back to admire her new look.

She replaced the cap on the lipstick and turned to Cal who sat in bewilderment. Eli was silent as well, his bowl of bar nuts still in hand, his mouth motionless.

"What do you think?" she asked them, turning to stand back in front of Cal.

Cal raised his eyebrows; eyes wide, pupils dilated.

He smiled slowly, ran his eyes down her neckline. "There is one thing."

Gillian shook her head slightly. "What?"

Cal reached forward taking the front of her shirt within his fingertips. He carefully unbuttoned another button, exposing more of her bra, revealing more of her cleavage. "Better."

Gillian sighed, smacked his hand and turned to leave.

Cal and Eli listened to her footsteps as she descended the stairs, watched as she walked casually across the barroom floor, turning heads as she went.

"You know," Eli said breaking their silence. "I've seen that outfit and I gotta say is hot damn!"

Cal turned his head to Eli slowly. "Loker?"

"Yeah."

"Shut up."

Down below, Gillian met with their intended, offered to join him in a game of pool. He ordered her a drink.

Two bottles of beer arrived a few minutes later.

Cal wondered if she would refuse the offer, knowing full well that beer was not her choice beverage, but Gillian smiled seductively and took a sip.

The game of pool continued with Gillian missing shot after shot giggling to herself. The muscled man took the opportunity to stand behind her, running his hands over her body, aligning her for the perfect shot.

Cal smiled to himself. Gillian could play pool; had beaten him on more than one occasion.

Gillian Foster was succeeding at seducing their intended and it was not long before the tight fitted t-shirt, muscular man offered his hand to her and led her to a dark corner out of Cal and Eli's sights.

Cal's heart beat fast within his chest. He searched the room; searched for a sign of her.

Suddenly, there were footsteps behind them and Gillian Foster emerged once again from the darkness of the stairwell.

She walked toward them with an air of accomplishment and reached within her bag pulling out a pen.

She took Cal's wrist in her hand and pushed up his sleeve. She removed the pen cap with her teeth and leaned forward in the dim light to write a name and address on Cal's forearm.

Cal's sights flickered from her neckline to her careful scrawl on his arm. She met his eyes, followed them back to her bust, to the black lace which was exposed to him.

"Your source's source," she declared, leaning away from him, recapping her pen.

Cal's gaped, impressed with her. Eli continued to munch on his beer nuts.

She smiled wide, white teeth showing. "I suppose that tennis outfit will have to wait."


	17. The One that Got Away

_The One That Got Away_

_

* * *

_

Cal Lightman and Gillian Foster rode the elevator in silence. The numbers illuminated above the heavy doors one-by-one as they descended rapidly

Their daily coffee run was usually spent in friendly banter; pitting their ideas off one another, pleading their case, utilising their time effectively.

But today the lights rolled by without argument. The floors sped by without banter.

There was a stillness in the air; a heaviness to their breath.

Something was dangerously close to surfacing.

* * *

"What is it?" she finally asked as they reached the ground floor, the impact subsiding in her limbs from the sudden change in motion.

"Not sure what you mean, love," he said letting her exit the elevator ahead of him.

"What's going on?" she insisted. "You've been unusually quiet today."

Cal paused mid-step and took a step back, letting her pass in front of him. "Have I?" he racked his memory of the morning's conversations. "Suppose I have been."

Cal offered nothing else. Head bowed low, he pushed forward, trailing behind her sluggishly.

Gillian sighed and pushed the glass doors to the street.

Where it could, the day's sun beat thick and heavy onto the streets of Washington, DC. Tall buildings cast shadows where the sun could not reach, offering refuge for its citizens. Traffic whizzed by them. A taxicab honked its horn.

Gillian welcomed the busy of the street, welcomed the sanctuary it provided her. Here she would be safe from Cal's eerily quiet disposition which was causing her spine to straighten, her mind to become self-aware of every little movement he made, each new expression that crossed his face.

_No, she would not become another Cal Lightman._

"Do you care to elaborate?" she prodded, holding her step so he could catch up to her.

She turned in time to see his eyes travel her legs, her back side. He reached her eyes as a wave of heat flowed over her like liquid, enticed her flesh. It didn't matter how many times he had looked at her before, each look had the same effect on her. The female counterpart to his roguish manhood, when his eyes trailed her body she felt alive. His gaze had the ability to alter her stride; made her hips roll with grace, her carriage to seem more womanly.

She rolled her shoulder toward him, lifting her chest, catching his eye again.

He looped his thumbs into his pockets, licked his lips. "Suppose I've had my mind on other things lately."

"Other things? What exactly?"

"I was thinking-"

"Gillybean?" The call came above the noise of the street, interrupting Cal.

Gillian Foster stopped short and turned slowly to find a man standing in front of her at a block's distance. A short mop of brown hair blowing slightly in the wind, he was dressed in a well-tailored suit, briefcase in hand.

Gillian took a few steps forward, squinting into the midday sun.

"Daniel?" she gasped. "Is that you?"

Daniel smiled widely and quickly stepped toward her, ignoring the man at her side.

"My god, Gillian," he said, taking her lightly in his arms. He patted her back. "It's been ages!"

She accepted the hug, squeezed lightly and released him. "It really has." She leaned back holding onto the sides of his arms. "Wow... Daniel you look great."

He shook his head lightly; his eyes traveled the length of her. "It's you that's wow!" Daniel said leaning back to take her in. "You haven't aged a day."

Cal scoffed which went by unnoticed by Gillian.

"And you're a liar." Gillian smiled, pushing her hair from her face. She eyed Daniel suspiciously.

Daniel laughed, stepped sideways from her playful slap. "No, I mean it, you look great."

Gillian blushed, giggled softly.

Cal cleared his throat and pushed his hands further within his pockets.

Gillian glared playfully at Cal. She opened her arm to include him in their joyful reunion. "Daniel, this is my partner-"

"Oh my god," Daniel exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. Here I am..." He motioned toward Gillian. "Well... You know..."

Cal cocked his head. He stared at Daniel, searched his face.

Gillian placed a hand on Daniel's arm, pressing lightly. "God, no Daniel," and off the surprise shock from Cal. "He's my business partner. This is Cal Lightman; Cal, this is Daniel Hiscock."

Daniel's face brightened. Eyes wide, he stepped forward. "Oh! Good. Well..."He leaned into Cal, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "Wouldn't want to be stepping on your toes here, Cal."

Cal grimaced and released his hand. He placed it back into his pocket and rocked on his heels.

"Lightman. Lightman." Daniel turned back to Gillian, eyes widening. "So it _was_ you I was reading about in _American Lawyers Quarterly_. The piece on the Booth murder trial. You found the missing link in the puzzle, helped the kid get off scot-free."

Gillian smiled shyly. "He was innocent. We were just doing our job."

"And now they know. He was going to hang on technicalities," and off Gillian's confused look, "I'm a defense attorney. Harvard Law."

"Wow." Gillian shifted her weight, pushed her hair from her face again.

"What's wow, _is_ you, Gill."

Cal cleared his throat again.

Daniel did not take his eyes from her. He leaned into her. "Forgive me for being forward..." He licked his lips. "Has someone stolen you yet?"

Gillian blushed again, deepening in colour. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Someone tried."

Daniel glanced at Cal who continued to dance uncomfortably beside them. He looked back to Gillian. "Shame, really."

Gillian leaned back from Daniel, raised her shoulder playfully. "Shame?"

He smiled at her. "For them," he reached into the front pocket of his briefcase, pulled out a business card and handed it to her. "Coffee, drinks, dinner; any of them, all of the above. You name it, Gill."

She smiled reading his card. "You've got yourself a date."

He smiled wide, pressed his palm flat against his leg. "Excellent." He looked to Cal and quickly turned from him. He gently placed his hand to her back. "I'd love to hear more about this firm of yours. Your work sounds fascinating."

Gillian ignored Cal's furrow; looked to Daniel brightly. "I'd love to."

* * *

Out of earshot, Cal finally spoke. "So who's this Daniel Hiscock?"

Gillian smiled re-reading Daniel's card. "Daniel was the High School Senior love of my life." She paused, memories flooding back to her, colliding with her present. "We shared everything."

"Aye, aye. Everything, you say?" Cal nudged her causing her to lose her balance slightly.

Gillian sidestepped, regaining her composure; a wide grin formed on her face. "Yes, Cal. Everything."

* * *

"You won't stay late?" Gillian asked entering Cal's office.

Gone was her muted grey outfit of earlier, replaced with a vibrant blue dress. Neckline plunging, her outfit was complemented perfectly by designer pumps and matching clutch.

She stepped toward him gingerly as he looked up, a wide smile on her face. She cocked her head toward him searching for his approval.

Water filled in his mouth and he stood to acknowledge her. "Wow!" he gasped, walking to stand in front of her. He swallowed. "You clean up nice, Foster."

She blushed slightly, awkwardly reached up to fix the shawl that draped across her shoulders. "Thank you."

The smile fell from Cal's face as creases formed at the corner of his mouth. "You and the lawyer having a drink?"

Gillian looked to her hands, fumbled with her clutch; opened and shut it. "Dinner. Dancing." She looked up slowly, released a heavy breath calming her nerves. "We're off to Marcel's."

Cal raised his eyebrows. "Fancy."

Gillian smiled. "Not sure how he got a reservation this quick. It's Friday after all." She shrugged her shoulders, silenced her hands in front of her. "I'm excited to tackle their wine list."

He nodded slowly. "As well you should be."

She paused, looked up at him slowly, memories of earlier coming back to her. "We never finished our conversation." She shifted her weight. "You had something to tell me?"

Cal smiled pleasantly. "Another time, love." He shook his head lightly. His eyes fell from her. "It can wait."

She blinked slowly; released a slow breath. "Right," Gillian pursed her lips and turned slowly to leave. "Tomorrow then?"

Cal pulled a hand from his pocket, waved slightly as she exited through his door. "'Night, love."

* * *

Cal returned to his desk and sat. He sighed heavily reaching for his phone. He dialed the number from memory and waited.

"Marcel's. How can I help you?" came the voice on the end of the line.

"Yes," Cal sighed again and leaned back in his chair. "I'd like to cancel a reservation."


	18. After Exposed

_After Exposed_

* * *

_"I liked the one he had."_

_

* * *

_

Gillian Foster stood with rapid heartbeat, the pounding unrelenting in her ears. She forgot her surroundings for a moment, long enough to let the emotion bubble to the top of her, shake her shoulders. Tears welled in her eyes.

She could feel his eyes on her; searching deep within her. He wanted to tell her something, he wanted to console her, be the mender of her broken heart.

But this wasn't going to pass.

She wouldn't let it be so.

_Couldn't._

"Care to share a cab," Cal asked, reaching out to take her shoulder in his grasp. His touch was light; fingertips lingered, gentle against the fabric of her coat.

She could feel his presence rocking slowly toward her and she immediately pulled away, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She flicked her fingers, rolled her knuckles against her leg.

"Its fine," she sniffed, regaining her composure. "I drove."

She looked toward him; eyes low, shying away so he could not see her newly formed tears. They welled thicker; threatened to fall, threatened to make her tremble, to lose all self control.

_Not today_, she thought. _You_ _won't see me break. Not this time_.

"A ride then, Foster? Car's at work."

And he knew; knew to use her last name.

_Good. Keep it business, Cal. Don't 'love' me. No 'darlings'. Don't even 'Gill', me. Not now._

"Fine," she said and began the trek down the hallway, escaping the scene; made attempts to erase it from her memory.

He followed her through the hallways, silently keeping a few steps behind her. They reached the elevator and she reached out to touch the button for the parking garage, accidentally made contact with his hand, so he could feel her tremble under his touch.

_Damn._

"You're tired," he said matter-of-factly and stepped into her, near enough for his familiar cologne to cascade over her, invade her senses with familiarity.

"I'm fine," she said flatly.

He winced. "Right."

There was a beep and the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Gillian stood by the lit panel; Cal to the rear, in the corner.

The elevator ride was silent. They listened to the air travel around them, to the wheels that rolled on cables, to the sound of the floors passing them by.

There was another beep and the doors opened again to cement flooring, cement pillars and cars strategically placed in long lines.

Her shoes echoed on the flooring. Again, Cal kept his distance, followed her to her side of the car when they reached it. She turned slowly, feeling his presence behind her.

"What?" she questioned.

"Let me drive, Gill."

She sighed, fury rising. "Why?"

"It's been a long day." He held his hand open. "Please."

She sighed again and clenched her jaw. "Fine," she muttered giving him the keys.

She climbed into the passenger's seat, buckled herself in and leaned back.

They pulled from the garage onto the darkened streets of DC. Gillian set her sights to the world outside; watched as the street lights passed her by.

After some time, she opened her eyes. Blurred darkness rolled by her window; street lights which reflected off the car's window. She recognised their exit from the freeway and the familiar neighbourhood which opened to them.

Cal turned into her laneway and pulled the car to a stop. She sat up straight and turned to him.f

"I thought we were getting your car."

Cal smiled wryly. "'t's all right. I'll cab." He opened the driver's door and exited the car leaving her behind in the darkness. He moved to the passenger's door and opened it slowly. He offered her a hand.

She ignored him and pulled her legs from the vehicle, stood up slowly.

He handed her the keys and followed her to the door. The car's security locks beeped behind them. She fumbled for her house keys and dropped them.

Cal's hand shot to her back and he left it there for only a second, long enough for her to quickly place the key into the tumbler and enter her house.

She kicked off her shoes and turned to him, her head bowed low.

"Can I fix you a drink?" she asked.

"Nah, I'm all right."

"Fine."

Gillian turned quickly and tread heavily down her hallway, to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Her soft sobs echoed down the hallway reaching Cal, turning something within him. He ached toward her; to her pain, to her broken heart.

He followed the sobs in the darkness, found her door closed. He opened it slightly and cursed the creak that emitted from its joints.

Her sobs stopped short and he knew he had to announce his presence.

"Gill?"

She fell silent all but for a few sniffles which she could not suppress. He heard the rolling of bed sheets, the creaking of a box spring.

He edged toward the bed, to her familiar form which lay still in the darkness.

"Hey," he said soothingly; sat next to her carefully.

"Are you not gone yet?" she muttered bringing a hand to her face to brush against her cheek, red and raw.

"'Fraid not, love." He kicked off his shoes and rolled his legs onto the bed beside her. "Would you believe me if I told you the cab is late?"

Sensing his proximity, she fidgeted within the sheets; inched away from him. "No."

She released another sob and he instantly played to it, rolled closer toward her, reached out to stop her from moving any further. "'t's all right, love. It's just me."

She scoffed into her sheets, pulled them tightly around her.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

Again, another scoff.

He reached out to touch her face. She instantly pulled away. "Please, Gill. You're hurting."

"No shit."

"And this is part my fault," he paused reaching her shoulder, cupping it with his hand. "Isn't it?"

She looked up from her cocoon of bedding. "You knew this was going to happen?"

"Well, no."

"Then how can it be your fault?"

"Cause I can't seem to mind my own business."

She sighed, sniffled again. "I loved him, Cal."

"I know, love." He reached forward, wrapped an arm around her. "I know."

She curled into him, braced her legs against him. She loosened the sheets around her, took his t-shirt within her fingertips.

He felt her shake again, felt the wave take her over and she gave into it; let the sobs rock her to the core. He rubbed her back, trailed his fingertips up and down her spine. His hands found her hair; let the light brown strands flow through his fingertips. When he reached her neck, he felt the tension in her lighten so he continued to run his fingers along her nape, across the top of her shoulders. He worked her hairline, felt her bottled emotion dissipate.

"Better?" he questioned, felt her nod into his chest. His t-shirt clung to his body, now soaked in her tears.

She settled against him and he felt her release a few heavy sighs. Her grip on his shirt loosened.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," she said softly, scarcely audible in the close confines of their embrace.

He kissed her forehead again, placed his chin to the top of her head, "You're my best friend, love. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

She inhaled deeply and he felt her hands move at his side. Her shoulders relaxed. "So your cab isn't coming, then?"

He kissed her forehead again and tightened his arms around her. "'Fraid not."

She nuzzled into him. "Good."

Gillian Foster closed her eyes.


	19. Marie

_Marie_

_

* * *

_

"Hey," Gillian Foster called out, entering Cal Lightman's office. Shades drawn tight, an eerie silence greeted her. She took a few more hesitant steps through his doorway and scanned the room. "Cal? You ready?"

"I was born ready," came a groggy voice from the comfort of the darkened room. He startled her, causing her to take a step back.

"Jesus, Cal," she muttered, shaking her head lightly.

She watched as he exited his study, turning the corner hesitantly, taking gentle steps toward her. He slouched his shoulders, scuffed his socked feet on his office floor. He was dressed in his regular black jeans and t-shirt. He brushed his hands over his face and rubbed his neck.

"You look like hell," she said honestly reaching out to place a finger to his chin.

He pulled away from her, squinted into the dim light flooding in through his office door. He cocked his head to the side, looked up at her with slight disgust. "Why thank you very much."

"Were you sleeping?"

"Was having a grand sleep until I was rudely interrupted."

"It's 2 p.m. Cal."

"And?"

"2 p.m.? We have a date Ms. Fisher. Remember?"

Her eyes softened as she stepped further into him and she reached up to brush a hand through his hair attempting to tame its unruliness. It fought against her, springing back out of place. Cal shifted in her hands, swayed toward her as she continued to run fingertips through his mess of a mop.

Cal sighed. "Mmmm," he said placing a hand to her hip, bracing against her. "Kitty says purr, yeah?"

She continued to work on his hair, unaware of his close proximity. He swayed some more and when she gave up on the taming of his locks, she froze noticing that his hand had migrated, and was resting firmly on the top of her ass.

She pushed firmly against his chest with both hands and shook her head. "You're such a child."

Cal opened his arms innocently. "You're the one who was doing the petting, love."

She sighed and reached to grab his jacket which rested on a nearby armchair. She threw it forcefully; hit him square in the chest.

He rolled into the jacket awkwardly and made a small turn for her. "How do I look?"

Gillian smiled and pointed slowly, down to the floor. "Shoes, Cal. You need shoes."

* * *

Under the bright lights of The Cube, sat Marie Fisher; thirty-four, successful entrepreneur, a once small business owner, whose craft was now flourishing under the high demand for unique interior decorating. Her keen eye to style and exquisite taste was something that even Gillian had heard about. Having no time to update her own place, Gillian was more than intrigued to crack the mind of the successful woman who sat across from her.

Marie Fisher leaned back with an air of valour. Her crisp, clean lined, business suit was tailored perfect to fit her; hugged the lines and curves of her body with grace. Not a hair was out of place on Ms. Fisher's head, which more than rattled Gillian's senses, and she wondered if she could rely on her gut feeling alone on this case.

Marie placed her hands in her lap. Her fingers folded so perfectly that Gillian was almost in awe of the woman. Even the tears for her former lover, fell perfect down the woman's face, seemed to disappear before they had an opportunity to fall to her form fitted, two-pieced suit.

Gillian looked down at her notepad, balanced her pen between her fingers and looked up to find Marie's eyes on her, on her own hands. "How long were you and Carrie lovers?"

Marie sniffed, looked to Gillian. "It's a shock really. A shock to the system to know she's gone." Marie folded the handkerchief in her hands, neatly tucked it into her palm.

"You avoided answering my question," Gillian said with grace. She tilted her head toward her. "Was your relationship criticised?"

"Why? Because I'm a Lesbian?"

"Maybe."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"No," Gillian said sighing. "Not everyone."

Marie smiled shyly. She looked down to her hands. "I was criticized in my field, not because of Carrie, but because people saw my art, my talents to closely resemble hers. They disapproved of me."

She looked to Cal quickly, looked back to Gillian finding solace in the sadness she returned.

"I found Carrie in the last year of college. She was just blooming into what she is..." She inhaled slowly, released her breath heavily. "... what she had become to this day. I don't know what she saw in me. I'd like to think it was my edginess, my determination. The rawness of my perfection. I don't know."

"When did you two fall in love?" Gillian asked, making a small notation on the pad of paper on her lap.

"That same summer after college." Marie smiled warmly. She searched within her subconscious, memories flooding back to her of happier days. "We got down to building our business together. Found comfort in each other each night. Her friends criticised me from the start. Thought I was ruining her talent. Her beauty." Marie reached forward took a sip of water. "It's a shame really. They couldn't see. Her friends... That it was her that turned me into what I am. I owe her everything."

Gillian's face contorted; her brow turned upward. It did not go by unnoticed by Marie.

"When did the relationship turn rocky?" Gillian asked, distracting herself by making another notation on her pad. She looked up at Marie, face stripped clean of the compassion she felt for the woman in front of her.

Marie grimaced. "About a year ago. We needed space. We needed time. It had become too heated," she explained. "We felt like we were drowning in our work, we had no time to be together." She sighed reminiscing. "At first you're with someone, you feel the connection, the vibe and what you think is a strong friendship one day suddenly turns out to be this heated romance, because you can't see yourself with anyone else. The bond is so strong between you, you want to breathe their air, bleed their blood." She paused, thinking about the earlier crime scene; Carrie's lifeless body in her hands. "It's a leap to take. A dangerous game to play."

Marie shook her head and looked to Cal, turned back to Gillian. "Why am I explaining this to you?" Marie leaned back, brushed a hand across her cheek. "You two must know."

"Know what?" Gillian asked.

"The hazards of the workplace relationship; the should you or shouldn't you."

A silence fell over the room. Gillian remained expressionless. Cal looked impressed. He leaned back in his chair.

"So you two aren't..." Marie waved a finger between the two of them.

Gillian scrunched her face. "God, no."

Cal's brow instantly furrowed. "Hey! Thanks," he stammered sarcastically.

Marie smiled and turned her sights to Gillian.

All evidence that she had been crying seemed to vanish from her features so instantly, Gillian had forgotten her last question.

Marie watched as Gillian uncrossed and crossed her legs. Her back straight, Gillian turned herself slightly from Cal.

Marie smiled and leaned forward on the table, she looked at Gillian and cocked her head slightly, lowered her voice seductively. "Men must throw themselves at you."

Gillian straightened her neck, looked to Cal nervously. "I'm sorry?"

Marie placed her elbow on the table, ignored Cal as he shifted in his chair. She placed her chin in her hand. "Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Freckles." She leaned to the side, ran her eyes up Gillian's legs. "And let's not forget to mention your obvious trait."

Gillian blushed, heat instantly flooding to her cheeks. She swallowed noticeable and flicked her heel.

Cal could not control his eyes as they grew wide. His chin puckered toward his partner, lips pursed.

"They don't," Gillian said nervously, her voice cracking slightly. "Not that I'm looking mind you."

Marie was taken aback slightly and lifted her head from her hand pleased. "Really?"

Gillian shook her head profusely, waved a single hand in front of her. "No... I mean..." she stammered. "I'm just not looking right now."

Marie licked her lips and scrunched her face, nose wrinkling. "Not even the least bit interested?"

"Afraid not." Gillian flicked her heel again and turned to Cal. "You could jump in here any time, you know?"

Cal swallowed; eyes still wide with wonder as he imagined a spectacle between the two women in front of him. "I think you're doing fine love."

* * *

The interview now at an end with all questions exhausted, Gillian stood slowly. "That just about does it Ms. Fisher. We thank you for agreeing to talk to us."

Marie stood gracefully and took steps around the table to stand in front of Gillian. She reached within her designer clutch, pulled out a small card. "I'll just leave you my card," she said warmly. "In case you happen to need to reach me."

"I won't," Gillian said matter-of-factly.

"Not even the littlest bit curious?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Really."

Marie reached forward suddenly, taking Gillian by surprise. She took Gillian's face in her hands and leaned into her, placed her lips against hers with ease. Their meeting was wet and warm as Gillian stood frozen, her hands by her side. She did not move as Marie moved her lips on her.

Marie licked her lips, parted them with her tongue. She released her slowly, and returned once more to place a chaste kiss against her.

A small noise uttered from the back of Marie's throat as she pulled back, finally releasing Gillian's face. She licked her own lips again, raising her eyes slowly to meet Gillian. "Anything?"

Gillian's face was vacant. She opened her eyes wider. "Sorry. No."

Marie nodded slowly, smoothed her suit jacket and tucked a piece of long dark hair behind her ear. "Pity...," she divulged gazing down Gillian's body. "...and a shame." She turned on her heel and exited The Cube without another word.

Gillian listened to Marie's heels as they echoed loudly against the walls of The Cube. Once the room had fallen silent, she turned to Cal who was rocking back and forth on his heels, hands deep within his pockets. "Well, well, well..." he said, rocking toward her. "As I live and breathe."

Gillian grimaced and reached forward on the table to collect her notepad. "Oh shut up, Cal." She placed her notepad into a blue folder and hugged it to her chest.

"What was it like?"

"What?"

"You know," Cal leaned into her. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. "_The kiss_."

"You don't know what it's like?"

"No games doctor."

"I've had better."

Cal cocked his head; realisation sinking slowly within him. "You mean to tell me..."

Gillian leaned into him. She lowered her eyes to his lips. "Let's just say that the only experimenting I did in college had nothing to do with a science lab." She turned quickly, pushed against the door to The Cube and descended the steps.

Cal stood flabbergasted and he shook his head removing himself from his reverie. "No way Foster!" he called after her bounding toward the door. "You're gonna have to spill more than that!"


	20. Someone Like You

_Someone Like You_

_

* * *

_

Never mind, I'll find someone like you.

I wish nothing but the best for you, too.

Don't forget me, I beg. I remember you said:

"Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead."

- Adele -

* * *

Heavy traffic beat thick against stone and brick, pushed itself over the city, drowned out the heels of Gillian Foster as she walked down the heated sidewalk.

The midday sun was beginning to take its toll on the city and its citizens. It streamed down in waves of heat; resisted against a wind which strained to coil its way around dense architecture. The air was stifling and it clung to Gillian's clothes, and sucked any chance of relief from her body.

Cal Lightman stepped from the coffee shop, a large coffee in hand.

"This is too hot for May," she divulged as she sipped from her orange slushie, condensation dripping from the outside of the clear plastic cup. She watched with a hint of disgust as Cal brought his paper cup to his lips and drank. "How can you drink that on a day like today?" she said, lip curling, nose wrinkling.

She pulled at her shirt with a free hand, felt it pull away from her slick skin. She fanned the fabric, was slightly relieved as the small gust of air flowed through her front.

Cal watched her carefully, his face devoid of the feeling he felt twirling in his gut. Sweat beaded lightly on her chest, caused the chain she wore around her neck to cling awkwardly to her skin. If she was hot, she did not show much sign of it. Even Cal felt the sweat roll down his back, his chest and arms. He knew he was a disgusting mess.

Even in this stifling heat, Gillian Foster had managed to remain intact without a single hair out of place.

"How do you drink that crap... ever?" he asked honestly pointing toward her perspiring cup.

She smiled and brought the straw to her mouth. She looked up at him as she wrapped her lips around the straw and sucked slowly. She swallowed gradually and flicked her orange tongue over her red lips. "It's icy. It's cool. It's orange and makes me happy."

Cal chuckled with her and leaned forward carefully, inhaled her sticky sweetness. He sighed softly; even in this heat, she still smelled divine.

Something caught her eye, and she looked up from her icy, orange beverage, turned her attention to a small bistro a short distance from them.

Cal watched as the smile fell from her face, as her eyes widened and hardened. He saw her lips open as she inhaled. Her chest fell heavily and she swallowed shallowly.

He followed her line of sight to the small bistro, to a couple who stood from their shaded patio table. The man in thick rimmed glasses helped the woman stand shakily from her chair and as they turned toward Cal and Gillian, the woman's bulging stomach became clearly visible. It wasn't long before the man stood fully and offered an arm to his companion. She obliged with a bright smile and hooked herself against him securely. They left their table and turned toward Cal and Gillian, and as the man looked up, Cal understood the reason for Gillian's sudden change, the smile that vacated her gentle features.

Arm in arm, Alec Foster and his long blonde haired, pregnant companion waddled toward them.

Cal heard the plastic cup fall from Gillian's hand. She swore and Cal turned to see the orange frosted liquid spread out on the sidewalk, covering a black patent leather slingback. She shook it from her foot and looked up anxiously to Cal who grimaced back at her. Her eyes shook slightly with panic.

"Gillian?" came Alec's pleasant shocked surprise. "Oh my God, hi!" he sang.

Gillian stepped over the mess and walked toward Alec with shaky knees. She looked out of the corner of her eye, caught sight of the healthy, pregnant belly beside her.

Alec shook his head slightly and opened his arms to take Gillian in an awkward hug. "It's been ages," he said. He pulled from her, and under a watchful eye, removed his hands from her quickly. He pressed his palms against his pants and turned toward his companion, opening his arm around her back.

"You remember Christine?" he asked.

Christine smiled shyly, lip quivering slightly. She reached out to take Gillian's loose grip. "Nice to see you, Gillian."

Gillian scoffed slightly and turned back to Alec. "Last I saw of you was at your mother's birthday," Gillian remarked, turning a hip toward him. She looked on Christine with sheltered disgust. "Not sure I remember seeing your sponsor there."

Alec smiled nervously, lips thin, pressed tightly together. "No, Christine wasn't there." He cleared his throat slightly. "She's no longer my sponsor, Gillian."

Gillian raised her brow and swallowed the lump in her throat. She caught sight of Christine's pregnant belly again and pressed her lips together. "I see," she said.

The lump reformed in her throat as easily as it had passed and she inhaled weakly as the memories flowed back to her quickly.

To chance meetings in dimly lit campus pubs and phone numbers written on sweaty palms. To holding hands and movie dates with popcorn. To talking on the phone to all hours of the night. To sleeping through exams and missing finals. To first kisses under the watchful eye of the Abraham Lincoln Monument. To couch time tickling and weekend retreats to the country. To horse back riding on white sandy Mexican beaches. To _I love yous_ and bended knees. To _I dos_ and _I won'ts_. To late night cuddling and crawling between Egyptian sheets. To calling in sick and spending the day wrapped in each other's arms. To Sophie.

To broken hearts and sleepless nights. To red eyed mornings and tears that never ceased. To late night arrivals and sleeping alone. To addiction and tall glasses of red wine. To one sided conversations and overtime. To advancements and expectations. To assumptions and accusations.

To empty promises and vacant vows.

To packing and starting over.

To picking up the pieces.

Cal watched as the sorrow flickered at the side of Gillian's mouth and he moved from behind her to stand beside her, reached forward carefully and pressed his fingers to her palm. He moved to press their hands together.

She turned to him, scorn in her eyes, and removed her hand. She nervously pressed her hand to her hip unsure of what to do.

Cal looked to Alec and placed his hands deep within his pockets.

"Hello, Cal," Alec said twisting his head toward him.

"Alec," Cal said nodding. Cal turned to Christine, read the embarrassment on her face. She timidly looked to Cal as the tension rose within the group.

"Congratulations," Gillian said smiling, expertly hiding the jealously in her voice.

Christine opened her mouth slightly. "Thank you," Christine said, relief flooding through her features.

Alec nodded slowly and turned to Gillian. "Yes, thank you, Gill."

Gillian shifted in her step, and rotated her hip away from Cal who was beginning to invade her space. She eyed him cautiously, warned him with a glare.

"I'm happy for you, Alec," she toyed with her words carefully. "Really, I am."

Alec smiled shyly and turned his head toward Christine. She smiled at him and leaned toward him and he instantly wrapped his arm tightly around her.

"You okay," he asked, worry thick within his tone.

"It's this heat," she said smiling nervously. Her long blonde hair draped in front of her face.

"We should get you home," Alec said reassuringly and he braced her gently to his side despite her off-centered weight. "Don't be a stranger, Gill," he said looking to her as he turned Christine from them. "We'll have to catch up."

Cal moved to stand beside her. He slowly removed his hand from his pocket and placed it carefully to her lower back.

She whipped around to face him, her mask now lifting. Her eyes burned; dark and irritable. Her lip quivered. She pushed his hand from her back.

"Don't, Cal," she warned, tension rising in the back of her throat. "Just don't."

She turned from him and looked down to her orange slushie mess. She sighed, stepped over it and began to take sticky steps toward their office.

Cal let her go and watched as the frustration rotated her hips and fell heavily into each angered step on the cemented sidewalk.

She did not look back to see if he followed.

Cal rapped quietly on the thick glass doors of Gillian Foster's office. She looked up from her desk and smiled slightly. He opened the door, poked his head through the partition and slinked inside. He sauntered toward her.

She turned in her chair with slumped shoulders, and held up a sticky black slingback. Sadness in her eyes, she sighed loudly.

"Can we save it?" he asked leaning against her desk.

She offered it to him freely and when he took it, her hands flopped to her lap. She looked up at him with so much distress that she resembled a small child full of hope that her father could fix a broken toy.

He turned the shoe in his hand and looked down at her again. "How's the foot?" he asked.

She looked down and wiggled her toes, looked back to him grimacing. "Sticky," she divulged.

He smiled warmly and left her side. He paused at the glass doors and turned. Holding up a hand, he motioned toward her, "Stay."

He was gone for only a moment, and when he returned, he carried two towels; one wet, one dry.

She smiled warmly and leaned back in her office chair as he kneeled in front of her and wrapped the warm towel around her foot. He massaged her foot gently through the towel; thorough in his motions as he washed and dried. He wrapped his hand around her calf and let his hand slide down her leg until her foot was within his palm.

"Good?" he asked her as he released her foot.

She smiled as he stood. "Thank you," she said quietly. She sat up in her chair and leaned forward.

"Can't have you trotting about with a sticky foot, love," he said as he picked the towels from the floor and placed them on the corner of her desk beside him.

She looked down to her lap, toyed with her fingers. "It's very sticky. I really should stop drinking it."

He scoffed and she looked up at him solemnly. "Nah. It's icy. It's cool. It's orange and it makes you happy." He smiled. "You happy, makes me happy."

She chuckled slightly as the warmth spread through her cheeks. The smile fell from her face suddenly and Cal knew that their light banter would change.

"Cal," she sighed. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Nonsense," he said shaking his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, love."

"For pushing you away…"

"You had it handled."

"Did I?"

He leaned forward from where he sat and moved down her desk to rest in front of her. "You don't need saving, Gillian," he sighed and pressed his hands against his thighs. "I should know this by now."

"You were just trying to help." She reached forward and patted him on his forearm, and he reached over to place his hand over hers.

"You okay, love?"

She pulled her hand away, and the tears brimmed in her eyes at the softness of his voice. She smiled nervously. "I told myself I wasn't going to cry." She released a few tears and wiped them away quickly. "I am such a cry baby."

He took her hands from her face and helped her from her chair. He guided her hands around his waist and took her into a tight embrace. He brushed his cheek flat against her face and his lips found the outside of her ear through her light brown hair. His warm breath traced across her lobe. "But you're my cry baby," he whispered softly and he felt her body melt as she surrendered to him.

Her head found his shoulder. Her nails scratched lightly against his shirt. "That was my life, Cal," she said honestly.

He felt her chest rise and fall heavily against him.

"I know, love," he said, running fingertips through her hair. "It ain't bloody fair."

Her hands fell silent on his back and her arms fell loosely to his sides. "Cal," she said softly.

"Yes, love."

"Never let me push you away again."

He smiled and rested his head against her. "You can count on it."


	21. Exhale

_A/N: Set during "Killer App"... _

_I wasn't going to post this due to the sheer volume of "Killer App" fic but it's all I have for you now... so here goes... There's a swear word in here... Just so you know... I wasn't sure if it was allowed with the T-rating I have for these one shots... but alas..._

* * *

_Exhale_

* * *

The night's air sank heavy.

The dim light of the streetlights below echoed off sidewalks, jumped over alleyways, threatened to peek into unsuspecting neighbourhood windows. The light fell to one window, streamed inside tall portioned glass frames where Gillian Ffoster hovered over the body of Claire, pressing her scarf tightly to Claire's chest.

Gillian watched the blood pool around her hands, seeping deep within the crevices of her skin. It was warm and she pressed down harder, willed a miracle to take place. But it kept pooling, kept bubbling as it spilled from the opening. Gillian willed it, begged it to stay within her.

Claire gasped under her, rolled her eyes up to look at Gillian; dark and fearful.

Tears fell from Gillian's face as she looked down at Claire; her face twisted into knots.

"Hang on," she pleaded, leaning over her. "Don't you let go, you hear me?"

Claire gasped, coughed as the blood pooled in her lungs; bubbled to the top of her filling her windpipe, and seeped, sucking out her life force.

She begged for the pain to stop, begged for the darkness to take her.

And suddenly Claire stopped gasping, stopped coughing, leaving Gillian alone in silence as the last of Claire's heart beats pumped more blood to pool on her chest.

* * *

His steps echoed down the hallway as he ran to her side.

She begged him to hurry; to erase the nightmare that had stolen her happy evening. It was to be an evening of joyous celebration, of comforting, of reminiscing of old times.

Air refused to enter her lungs and she gasped as the tears fell down already sleek cheeks. She remained motionless. Tired of control, she became victim to the numb that had seeped through her veins.

Her hands burned with the reminder of Claire. The blood had begun to dry, cake heavily on her hands.

Her shoulders hunched forward; even posture was a thing of the past.

_Help me_, she wanted to scream. _Cal, do something. End this. Make it go away._

And he looked at her, looked at her with such sadness as his eyes trailed her body, looked for a sign that she was okay, that she wasn't injured herself. He breathed heavily in front of her, and read every small line on her face. But her face only showed him one thing; surrender.

"I was too late," she stammered, breathed out on a whim, and she thanked herself for having the ability to release those words. She was quickly becoming a victim to the shock that resonated through her core.

He shook from his jacket instantly, and wrapped her in its warmth.

She wanted to stop the tears, wanted to force the last of the night's events from her eyes. So they could work. So they could solve this.

She wanted to work.

She wanted Cal.

She wanted his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her instantly. Cared not for her present state; cared not for the crimson that stained her hands, her jeans, her shirt.

He took in his Foster.

* * *

Gillian looked up to her reflection in Claire's bathroom mirror.

Her cheeks were red, raw, and the salt clung to her skin, burned through her pores, left trails of layered, translucent residue down her face.

Cal's jacket remained on her shoulders and she brought her face to it and inhaled deeply.

He had come. He had been there. She'd called. He had come.

Like she could have expected less from the man. Like he could have done less.

She inhaled again; the thick smell of his cologne clung to the layers of his coat, sank deep within the fabric and she found a peace, a tranquility in that moment. If she could only close her mind as easily as she could her eyes and wipe the memory away.

To a place of safety. To a place of comfort.

To the place with him where she knew she wasn't permitted. Where she couldn't permit herself.

She inhaled quickly and new tears formed and she grimaced at the pain as they trailed down her cheeks, corrosive and invasive.

_Fuck this_, she cursed and shook her head letting the tears fall that may. _Let them fall. Just let them stop._

There was a buzzing in her ears; a perpetual noise that refused to allow her to think with level head.

She inhaled again and blinked rapidly, and shook her shoulders from his coat. She removed herself from the comfort, the safety and stood looking back at her reflection, to the torn woman in front of her in a bloodied sweater.

A light rapping came from the door. "Foster?" Cal questioned quietly. "You all right, love?"

She choked again, tried to hold back newly formed tears as they welled in her eyes.

She fought to call out to him, to greet him, but nothing came.

With crimson hands she reached forward, turned the taps quickly, and let the water rush into the basin. She paused; her hands shook in front of her.

Had she been shaking before? Had her hands always been this colour? She had remembered the blood more vibrant, but now it caked over her like dried paint; an everlasting reminder of Claire.

She attempted to put her hands under the running water, tried on two occasions to edge toward the warmth but something stopped her, something gripped her chest.

"Foster?"

She looked down to her shirt.

_Perhaps it would be easier. Just simply lift and shake from it_, she thought.

She gasped and closed her eyes.

_End this._

She reached for the bottom of the shirt and pulled the garment carefully over her head. Slowly, she turned the shirt in her hands, held it in front of her. Parts of it already dry, she folded it neatly, laid it out as one would in a store.

She looked down to her abdomen where the blood had pooled. A perfect imprint remained on her skin.

More tears welled in her eyes. No matter how hard she tried, Claire did not seem to want to let her go.

* * *

Her blood-soaked hands shook as he entered the bathroom quietly. Shirtless, she stood in black laced bra, hands shaking over a basin of running water.

"Foster?" he announced again, hesitantly making his way to meet her. "It's okay, love."

She looked up unaffected by his presence, and stared at him with eyes, red and dark. She offered him little of a greeting; offered only a small line at the corner of her mouth.

Her abdomen showed an impression of the blood from the shirt folded neatly beside her. She did not shy away from him as he stepped beside her, pulling his hands from his pockets. Before she had time to react, his fingertips grazed her skin His palm cupped her firmly by the elbow.

Tears fell down her cheeks. She closed her eyes.

"It's okay," he whispered softly, running a palm smoothly across her back. She sighed under his touch and leant into him, pressing her weight against him. "It's okay," he repeated, taking his hand to draw her hair from her face. Her eyes remained closed, and the tears continued to fall, but her breathing steadied under his touch. His breath traced across her lobe as he pressed a small kiss behind her ear.

He brought both hands to her shoulders and trailed her arms. He forced her hands forward.

Suddenly, she locked her arms and inhaled sharply. She leant away, threatened to pull back.

He kissed her shoulder and placed his forehead against her fitting perfectly against the crook of her neck. He continued to calm her; gentle fingertips ran up and down her arms.

"Let go," he said, voice softening, lips pressing against the nape of her neck. "It's all right, love. Let go."

Her body shook as he leant them forward under the steady spray of the tap. Warm water mixed with the dried blood on her hands, and together they watched as the last of Claire began to leave Gillian's body.

"I've got you," he said as she shook in his arms and she leant back against him, held her hands as steady as she could as he washed her forearms with soap. The suds turned pink before them and he continued to run his hands over her arms until the water ran clear and her tears ceased.

* * *

"What more do you want? Go get 'im!"

"Lightman..."

"Don't Lightman me. He did it."

"Lightman..."

"What did I just say?"

"No... look."

Cal turned in the direction Detective Sharon Wallowski was pointing.

Curled into the corner of his couch, Gillian Foster sat, legs tucked under her, head propped up with a cushion. Exhaustion sat heavy on her features and in the sudden quiet of his house, she stirred as if haunted by some vivid dream.

Cal's face twisted and he inhaled suddenly taken by the sight of his partner; her sudden surrendering to the night's events. He blinked slowly, felt for the first time the effects of the stress in his shoulders.

"We've done all we can tonight," Sharon added, lowering her voice.

"So you won't try for the warrant?"

"I can't, Cal." She sighed. "You know that." She looked from him, back to Gillian as they watched her sleep restlessly. "Look... I want to get this son-of-a-bitch too."

"Right..."

"You're questioning my position on this? My job?"

He turned to her with sad, tired eyes. "Nah, love." He looked back to Gillian, watched the sides of her mouth twitch. "It's been a hellish night."

Sharon reached into her pocket and looked down to her hands as she fumbled with her car keys. "You two should get some sleep," and without looking up to him she turned toward his door. "I'll talk to you in the morning."

* * *

She stirred and her hands shot forward as her eyes adjusted to the figure above her.

"It's okay," Cal soothed. "It's just me."

"Cal?"

"Yeah, love." He reached to take her hand. "Come on. Bed time."

Gillian squinted and pressed her eyes tightly together. "But Wallowski..." She pointed toward the door. "I fell asleep?"

He nodded slightly. "Yeah. Come on. Let's tuck you in."

She sat upright slowly, looked down at her hands, at his jacket which she still wore. "But Wallowski... I'm sorry." Her lip quivered. "I can keep going."

He bent low, placed his face in front of her and waited until she adjusted to the light, made sense of her surroundings. "Gill, it's late. Wallowski is gone, right, so now it's time for bed now." He wrapped her small hand in his and tugged slightly. "Come on. Up ye get."

She rose to meet him, and followed as he lead her to the stairs. He expected a bit of restraint from her, some tension in her fingertips, but she followed suit so easily; her free-rein drowned out by grief.

His familiar Foster was not with him tonight.

Instead the emptiness he saw in her, ate at him slowly. He lead her to his bed and she sat on his plush duvet. He left her quickly and returned to her side in two bounds with a black, classic Cal Lightman t-shirt.

She had already begun to undo the coat, let his scent fall from her bare shoulders to gather at her waist. As he lifted the t-shirt, to place it over her head, she reached behind her, and in one motion, undid the clasp of her black-laced bra.

He helped guide the shirt over her body, and looked down to the vacant expression she gave him as she placed her arms within the garment.

She lay back as he turned down the sheets and lifted her legs to tuck her feet within. He was ready to pull the blankets over her, but she reached down, fumbled with tired, unsteady fingers, to tug and pull at the waist her pants until she could wiggle free of them. He watched silently, hands still on cotton sheets, as the muscles of her flat stomach tightened, as her pants gave way to matching laced panties.

He shook away any desire that began to pool in his gut, and instead pulled the blankets over her, to tuck them under her chin.

"Better?" His voice cracked back at him as he struggled with the simple word.

She sniffed and nodded and looked up at him, eyes glossy and dark in the dim light.

He leant forward, kissed her forehead and waited for her to release a heavy breath. He pulled back to watch her eyes close.

"Stay with me," she whispered and he lowered himself on her, rolled over her body to place himself flush against her frame, buried his face into her neck. He tightly wound his arms around her frame.

Her body shook slightly and he held on, waited for her to regain her composure.

"It's all right."

"I just need fifteen minutes," she whispered. "Then we can keep going."

He moved his face against her soft hair. "Close your eyes, Gill."

"I just need it to be quiet, Cal. There's so much noise; so many voices inside my head." Her body trembled from the honesty in her words. "I can't make them stop. They won't leave me alone."

He stroked her hair, let the golden brown strands ease through his fingers. "You sleep," he whispered. "Let me curse them for a while."


	22. S&M

**_For my beloved Anne... on this the celebration of her birth..._**

* * *

_S&M_

* * *

"Aye, aye," Cal Lightman greeted, chewing loudly as he burst through the heavy door to The Lightman Group's lab.

Eli Loker flicked off the monitor in front of him and turned in his chair, half-chewed pen cap in his mouth.

"Doctor Lightman!" Ria Torres stood at attention and turned briskly to greet Cal as he sauntered toward them with a wide stance. "You're back."

Cal eyed her and chewed the food in his mouth slowly as he focused on her lips. "Quite the astute observation."

Ria looked to Eli nervously and balled her hands into fists.

"Cookie?" Cal held the bag in his hand toward her and its aroma assaulted her senses. They made her mouth water and she reached in the bag without further hesitation and smiled up at the older man.

A slight reddish hue lit his face aglow, all except for the perfect white patch on his nose.

"You're back _early_," Eli corrected and he wheeled his chair toward the pair, and held up his hand to request a treat.

Cal slowly pulled the bag to his chest and reached into it pulling out a perfectly round cookie. He drew it to his lips and folded it aggressively, shoving it entirely in his mouth. He continued to hold Eli's attention as he watched the young man begin to pout.

"Sharp as a tack, you are," Cal said, mouth full. He teased Eli with the bag until Eli finally grabbed it. "Yeah, yeah. Party's over. Daddy's home."

Cal brushed his hands together and edged toward Ria, swallowing loudly. "Where's mum?"

Ria chewed her cookie carefully. Her brow pushed together. "Who?"

Cal blinked slowly as his tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth. "Mum." He cocked his head and spoke slowly, clearly. "Where _is_ the delightful Doctor Foster?"

"I'm here."

The trio lifted their heads in the direction of the voice.

Gillian Foster entered through the door and took long strides toward them. Her hips swayed to the rhythm of her heels as they clicked over the tile, and Cal felt himself mesmerised with the grace of her movement as he so often did. She was dressed in a tight fitted, red dress with short sleeves which exposed her freckled chest and shoulders.

Cal smiled as she approached him, and took in the familiar sight he had been without for the past week. She held up a tray with three disposable coffee cups in it.

"Sorry," she said handing Eli and Ria their coffees. "Would have gotten yours, if I'd have known." She placed the tray on a nearby desk and raised her cup to her lips, wrapping two hands around the warmth. "You're back early," she mused.

He watched as she lowered her eyes to the cup and wrapped her lips around the opening. She sipped carefully.

Cal sighed. "Anyone miss me? Anyone at all?"

Without missing a beat, Gillian looked up. "Anna missed you."

"Did she now?"

"Did you have a nice trip?"

Cal stared down at his partner. She held his eyes as she sipped her coffee. She returned innocent charm as she deflected his question.

He turned toward the video above them, avoiding her question; playing the game. "So what's all this about then?"

Eli cleared his throat. "Just finishing up a little case." He turned quickly taking the bag of cookies with him, and rolled his chair back to his desk.

Ria also turned from him and busied herself with a small file in front of her.

Cal turned from her to Gillian, who had slinked into a corner of the lab. He watched as she perched herself on a stool against an adjacent wall. He had to squint to read her face, barely read the hint of red which had begun to graze her cheeks before she slinked fully into the darkness of the corner.

She had always succumbed to them so easily, he thought; her small fits of innocence. It was the stuff that radiated so easily. The stuff that would have any man falling to his knees at her feet, begging for release.

It was a power she held with gracefulness, and yet she never let on; never willingly divulged the secrets of her attraction.

But he knew, and he kept her secret, even if he was merely a victim of its enticing pull.

Cal decided to play along with their game; to ignore their obvious dismissal. "Do tell."

"Just a little case," Eli inhaled and looked toward Gillian. When she ignored him, he continued. "A newly wed came to us claiming her husband was cheating on her. That's all." Eli looked over his shoulder. "You didn't leave us with much. We made the most of it."

"How so? I'm all ears, as they say."

There was another quiet moment between Eli and Ria, but he continued nonetheless. "She claimed he was involved in a certain extracurricular activity."

Cal shifted impatiently in his stance. "Be more specific."

Eli cleared his throat again. "That would be 'Lady Godiva's House of Passion'".

Cal's brow raised in interest and he waited quietly for Eli to turn and meet his eyes. "And... we got this how?"

"Like I said; you didn't leave us with much." Eli exhaled loudly realising that he was being left to run with the story. "Our client has accused her husband of cheating on her. Seems he has an apparent fetish that he had revealed to her on a whim after they were married. Simple stuff. Chains, whips, leather, etcetera." Eli turned on the screen above them and the video blinked. "We interviewed the wife briefly but decided it best to approach it... um... hands on."

The video blinked again and Cal was presented with a greying city sky, reflecting in on a dimly lit office. A man sat at his desk; head in his hands, fingers gripping his hair. The man was clearly stressed and he was dressed in a loose fitted, buttoned shirt. His tie was loosened around his neck.

"We decided to surprise him," Eli continued. "At work... late."

Eli pressed play and the video began to run.

A woman entered to the video's right. She had long dark hair, and she walked steadily in her high heels. Black boots emerged from the bottom of a knee length trench coat. The man looked up and stood, and took the steps needed to move from the safety of his desk.

His legs clearly shook as he neared her and she reached forward to push against his chest forcefully, making him sit in an nearby chair.

The woman removed her coat slowly, to reveal her tight, curvy body. She was dressed in knee high leather boots, leather shorts and riveted corset that pushed her breasts to sit high and round. Net stockings complemented the outfit.

Cal squinted as the woman pulled out a black whip.

The man shook his head, clearly frightened by the event unfolding in front of him. His mouth moved frantically and it was then that Cal realised there was no audio to the feed.

He wished he had remembered his reading glasses. Wished the grainy recording could be made clearer, that the dim evening light could fight harder against the shadows of the office that stole the scene from him.

Cal felt the familiar pull and tug within him, and he pushed his hands into his pockets, altering his body to hide what was proving difficult to control.

They watched as she approached the man, as he stood hesitantly and tried not to touch her. She tapped him with her whip, and pushed him down again before he had a chance to fully stand. The chair rocked on its rear legs, threatened to topple backward.

The faint light from a nearby lamp illuminated the woman's slender muscular arms; her hands which gripped to the man's shirt. The light hugged the curve of her ass, and it all slowly became familiar to Cal.

He could count all the hours he had spent fantasizing, burning her image into his mind.

He carefully turned to search Gillian's corner but she refused to look toward him. Instead, she stared blankly at the video.

Cal forced the altered anger through his features, hiding his approval of the scene he had witnessed. He let it shake his voice as he released the words; let them tumble easily throughout the room. "And _how_ _much_ did this fun of yours cost exactly? You think I'm made of money?"

"Well, no. That's why we sent one of our own... undercover."

"Oh, did we now?"

Eli looked to Gillian who had found something interesting in her hands. She seemed to be slinking even further into the darkness.

"Initial voice analysis had proven that he was telling the truth. That he had nothing to do with Lady Godiva or her 'House of Passion'. But we wanted to be sure." Eli pointed toward the screen with half eaten pen cap. "Hence the video."

"I see."

"That and we were bored." Eli tilted his head toward his boss. "Did I mention you left us with nothing to do?"

Eli fell silent as Cal looked on as the dominatrix lifted her leg and pushed her boot against the man's chest, digging her heel into him, clearly requesting for him to lick the leather. The man shook his head furiously and the woman released him. He tried to get up but she pushed him backward again, leant over him, indulging him, requesting something from him again. The man merely shook his head and averted his gaze from her chest.

Cal followed her lines, her curves, and licked his lips. Eli altered the video board and presented them with various cameras from around the room. The different cameras offered him the best angles and enticed his intrigue further. Cal walked toward the video screen.

He lingered on the curves of her breasts; pushed up and plump. They begged, invited their intended to dive in. Cal felt his jaw slacken; felt the water pool within his mouth.

He sauntered over to Gillian, into the darkness that had enveloped her in a quiet shelter. She had divulged herself in a small pad of notes on her lap. With her legs crossed, she flicked her foot playfully, tightening the muscles in her leg.

Cal looked behind him to gander at the woman in the boots on screen. He turned back to watch Gillian's muscles contract again.

"How much extra I have to fork out for this?"

"Nothing," she choked without looking up. "Any cost came from my pocket."

"Don't know about you, love..." He lowered his voice and leant in. "Not sure if I saw a pocket in that outfit."

Her mouth twitched nervously but she kept her eyes low. She licked her lips slowly. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"These legs love," he reached down and wrapped his hand around her calf, silencing her leg. "I'd recognise these works of art anywhere... in anything."

She looked up slowly and he watched her mouth open, lips parting slowly. He felt her breath thready on his face and for a moment he felt her succumb to his touch, to his fingers which trailed down her muscular leg.

"Miss me?" he whispered looking into her eyes which had adjusted fully to the dim light. He watched her tongue trail her bottom lip.

She smiled slowly and the corner of her mouth turned up. She blinked drunkenly.

"Aye, aye," he oozed. "I'll take that as a yes."

He looked down as she uncrossed her legs and he allowed his hand to trail up around the back of her knee. She pushed herself forward in the chair.

"Any chance you'll be sportin' those boots for me, love?" She watched his face contort into a sly grin. He lowered his voice and leant in to let it run ragged against her ear. "I've been a very naughty, naughty boy."

She reached down to remove his hand, and pushed herself from the chair. "Not on your life."

"Not bloody fair, Foster?" he released quickly as she moved toward the door.

She wrapped her hand around the door's handle and turned her head to look over her shoulder. "Life's not fair, Cal." She pulled on the handle and exited quickly.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the wide eyes of Ria and Eli; neither knew how to react to what was being presented to them.

It took a moment for the smile to spread to his face, but he let it take him over, let it move the corners of his mouth, causing his cheekbones to rise.

"We'll see 'bout that."


	23. The Dance

_The Dance_

* * *

Maybe they could be.

Maybe it could last.

For a time.

And if she held onto it long enough, grasped onto the tethers, maybe she could form something that could make it all a reality.

Would it be enough though? To stand in front of him, take him by the hands, slow the world around them and utter those three little words.

Could it change their path, guide their existence, alter a course into welcomed happiness.

Could she be? Would he be?

Enough?

She expected him to lean in, to jump into the moment, to dance his dance, and cock his head, and utter a slurred, half-quip that emitted low in the back of his throat. But he didn't move, didn't dare break contact with her eyes.

She wasn't sure if they were breathing, wasn't sure if the floor beneath her was moving or if it was her own knees shaking that caused her to struggle to maintain a steady balance.

Instead she found him solemn before her, grasping onto the same barrage of questions that haunted their every dream.

Could they make that step?

Could they take that certain leap?

And instead of beginning them on this quest, she recoiled, and pushed a small strand of light brown hair behind her ear, and offered him a slight smile as she took the styrofoam cup from his hand.

"Gillian?"

"Yes."

"I asked if orange was your favourite."

"Sorry. Yes." She felt the warmth continue to spread down through her cheeks, down her neck, across her chest. "It is." This small comfort. This kind offer.

She wrapped her lips around the straw and sucked slowly. The icy, orange beverage greeted her tongue with familiarity, and she held onto the sweetness, the tang, for a moment while she let her eyes fall from his.

"Everything all right, love?" he asked.

"It's good."

"Good, eh?" He brought his tea to his lips, felt the heat greet his lips.

"It's good."

"Not grand? Not fantastic?" He began to lead the way down the hallway to her office, slowly inched himself closer to her where their shoulder could graze, their hips could meet.

"It's good, Cal."

"I'll have to work on that then."

"What?"

"Getting you from _good_ to _bloody brilliant_." They found themselves in front of her door, neither reached for the glass door's handle.

She looked down at the cup in her hand. "This is a start."

He smiled and inched closer. "I think we both know you're more than a slushy drink, Gillian."

She returned his smile finally and took another long sip. "Yes, but it's orange. And I do love orange."

"But you need more."

"Cal," her tone was changing, urgency deepening. "What are you getting at?"

"Dinner. Tonight."

"With you?"

"With me."

She squinted her eyes as she moved around him to grasp the door's handle. She opened it, paused and looked back at him. "All right, Dr. Lightman. You're on."

"Smashing."

It was only for a second, but her tongue flicked out, and she tossed her hair as she entered her office.

And it was in that moment that Cal discovered that he too, loved orange.

He watched her, safely hidden behind the wall. He watched her draw the liquid into her mouth, watched her swallow and smile as she placed the cup onto her glass desk.

He watched as the lines moved on her face, as she typed happily on her keyboard.

There was something different in her posture, in her freckled shoulders, in her lips that pulled together, and her orange tongue that moistened them.

Cal smiled and turned toward his office.

It was time for him to take the lead.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry its been so long... been preoccupied... been married. So I thought I'd offer this itty bitty piece. It's all I got. For now...  
_


	24. The Fever

_The Fever_

* * *

His world had been quiet for a time, and the seconds had ticked by slowly as he had drifted off to sleep. It had been a long tedious day with the drawl of the workplace, and the constant nagging of his staff. He had longed for the day to end, to slip out of his drab clothing, into a hot steamy shower and drink the day away, long into the night.

And he had succeeded. Succeeded until now, when he turned his head, rolled over to pick up his alarm clock. Curse these retched eyes, he thought mercilessly. He blinked and squinted, until he could make out a two and some other numbers that followed.

It was late and there were noises, and talking, and Emily was out of bed.

So he inched himself grudgingly towards the end of the bed, and placed his feet on the floor, sauntered, staggered towards the door and flung it open. It made a noise as it hit the door stop with a thud, and he waited, but still the noise, the constant chatter below did not cease.

_What she done now? _he asked himself. _Friends over at this hour._

His feet trudged one in front of the other, down the narrow staircase, and he had to reach out in front of him, palms open, to brace himself against the wall as he reached the turn in the stairs.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" he muttered aloud and found the bottom stair, the cold kitchen tiled floor.

He had thought he would find Emily and a friend gallivanting over their latest crush, and the high school jock, but instead he found her talking with exactly who he wanted to see, always, standing in his kitchen.

"Gill?" he questioned and she looked up from Emily, her arms clutching her purse to her chest.

She was flushed and she held herself closely, kept a small distance from Emily.

"Cal," she remarked, the slightest bit of shock resonating in her voice. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What's up?" he asked rubbing his eyes walking towards the pair. "It's late, love."

"I-I know," she stammered. "I was in the neighbourhood... I had to give you this." She held out a manila envelope. "Before I forgot."

"You were in the neighbourhood..." It was less a question, more like he had assumed. As if he had envisioned her running around this late at night.

_She was looking for something_, he thought quietly, looking away so she could not read his face. S_omething she didn't have at home_.

He opened the envelope, pulled its contents out. He looked up at her and his head cocked to the side. "This could have waited, Gill. It could have waited until tomorrow."

"I know... but..."

"Tell him," Emily interjected urging Gillian on.

"Emily, it's nothing." There was an urgency in Gillian's voice, a warning of sorts for Emily. But Cal wasn't falling for it.

"What's nothing?" he asked.

"Just look at her," Emily urged. "Dad, she's not right."

Gillian looked up, her eyes growing wider as Cal approached her, squinted and cocked his head. "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing, Cal. I'm fine."

He could see the paleness in her skin now that he was closer to her, and he reached out and placed a palm to her forehead. The sweat and heat greeted his hand immediately. "You're burning up," he said, letting his tone fall to concern.

"I'm fine."

"Are not."

"Am to."

"When did this come about?" he asked placing a hand to her cheek, letting his fingertips trace her neck quickly. She was even hotter where the cool October night's air could not touch her skin.

"A few hours ago."

"And you came here?"

"I had to give you..." She sighed as the words escaped her mouth, and she pulled from his hand. "I'll go," she said, lowering her voice.

"You're not going anywhere," he said reaching out for her shoulder. "You'll come with me. You'll lie down." He wrapped an arm over her shoulder gently, pushed her carefully towards the stairs.

"This is your fault, you know," Gillian said to Emily.

Emily reached out to touch Gillian's shoulder and taking her father's lead, continued to guide her towards the staircase. "And you'll thank me for it later. You really shouldn't drive."

Cal and Gill left Emily at the bottom of the stairs, and he lowered his hand from his friend as she climbed ahead of him. "She's a smart one that, Em."

Gillian reached the landing. "And nosy."

"Nah." Cal sighed as he moved Gillian down the hallway. "She's concerned. And she has every right to be. Gill, you look bloody awful."

Gillian turned slightly, and Cal could tell she was blinking away stars. "Thank you... for that."

"Any time."

She edged past his bedroom and he reached forward to drag her back toward him. "Nah, love. In here."

She paused, shook from his arm slightly. "Cal...," she warned with a glare.

He rolled his eyes and pulled her forward again. "I'll take the spare. That mattress is miserable. You'll be more comfortable in here."

The room was dark and he left her standing in the doorway as he blindly made his way to a lamp on his bedside table. He turned the tiny knob and it flicked on, filled the room with a comforting amber glow. He motioned towards the bed with a single finger. "You. Here. Now."

A part of him relished in the moment, the direction, the order in his tone, to force Gillian Foster into his bed. And she was willing, sauntered towards him still clutching her purse to her chest, arms still wrapped tightly around her body.

"Have you taken anything?" he asked.

She shook her head and he saw the shiver in her as she sat. He took her purse, took her coat from her as she removed it.

He left her to sit while he walked into his en-suite, returning instantly with a small white bottle and a tall glass of water.

She took them from him and nodded in thanks as she downed the pills quickly, and sipped the water. She shivered again, more noticeably this time, and he reached forward to lightly rub her shoulders. He fell to her feet, helped her out of her leather pumps.

"Where is he?" he asked looking up, wrapping his hand around her foot carefully.

She didn't look at him, merely looked at his fingers wrapped around her sole, fingers moving gently over her skin. "I don't know," she said sadly, but the hint of frustration was not as masked as she had wanted it to be.

"You want me to call him?" he asked, and he stood, pulled back the blankets further so she could curl up.

"He won't answer," she said as he pulled the heavy blankets over her. "He never does."

"I'll call him, Gill," Cal urged gently. "Where's your phone?"

She lifted her chin towards her purse. "There, in my bag," and she watched as he moved towards the armchair where he had placed her things, rummaged carefully through her belongings. "But he won't answer," she repeated. "He never does."

Cal moved towards the bed and he reached inside the lampshade to turn the knob. The room fell to darkness again, all but for the soft glow that came from the doorway.

"He won't answer," she muttered again as he walked into the hallway. He closed the door behind him.

He searched through her contacts. He would try her home first.

He waited and let the phone ring. Let it ring and ring, and heard the familiar click. "You've reached Alec,"Alec's happy voice beamed. "And Gillian!" Gillian interjected.

Cal let the voices play out for him and waited for the buzz of the answering machine before hanging up. He closed his eyes at the sound of Gillian's voice. The lightness in her giggle was intoxicating. It was a happier time, long ago.

Next he would try Alec's cell.

But Gillian was right, and Alec's phone beeped immediately, went directly to voice mail.

"You bastard," Cal muttered as he hung up the phone.

He opened the door slowly, looked in on her caught in the beam of dim light. She was curled, had surrendered to the fever, and was falling fast into a deep sleep. It was a side of the bed he would not dare sleep on; a side that had remained vacant since his marriage had fallen apart.

And now there was someone on that side again.

He wrestled with the turning in his gut, the longing in his arms, and he fell victim to it, tiptoed across the room leaving the door slightly ajar.

He would stay for a moment, he told himself. Stay until the heaviness in his chest, the aching in his arms had died away.

He stayed on top of the sheets, carefully placed himself beside her. He would stay here, be silent, only rest for a moment. It was his mantra, he thought, he reasoned.

That was until he felt her shake again, and he rolled instantly, wrapped an arm around her and pulled himself into her. He wondered if he had done it too quickly, if he had waken her from her feverish dream. But she remained as she was, so he relaxed, curled his chin, pressed his forehead to her neck.

She was warm, he remarked, hot even, but she felt glorious in his arms, and he would wait until her fever lifted before he would even think of leaving her side.

And it was in this time that Cal missed it, as he pressed himself tightly to her backside.

He missed her eyes as they fluttered open. He missed the silent tears that fell from them.


End file.
